


Smart Casual

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - It's a Terrible Life, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Boundary Issues, Dean in Panties, Dom Castiel, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Edgeplay, Everyone's a Bit Opposite to What They Are In the Show, Facials, Falling out, Homophobia, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Living Together, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., Stripping, Sub Dean Winchester, Suddenly Living Together, Tattoo Artist Castiel, The Truth About Kale, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, deancastropefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Dean Smith is having an early midlife crisis. He’s sick of his job at Sandover. Lonely. And wondering what the hell he’s doing with his life.Castiel Shurley is a successful tattooist. He just wants to run his business, find love, and avoid his father as much as possible.When Dean and Castiel meet at Castiel’s tattoo parlor, they fall for each other—hard. Both can give each other what the other needs, including a kinky side. But after an assault means Castiel has to live with Dean for a time, living with each other threatens their blossoming relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic since around May. I know who to blame for this fic existing: [A_Diamond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/a_diamond) persuaded me to sign up to Tropefest this year. And I first thought: "Oh, I'll write something that meets the minimum word count, yep..."
> 
> The minimum word count for Tropefest is 15,000 words, this fic is more than double that. It is the result of me taking the "It's a Terrible Life" verse as my main trope and going, "Let's add in some inking, kinky Castiel, and make everyone a little opposite (or a lot opposite) to what they are in the show as a whole."
> 
> Despite that, this was a tough fic to write, and there were times where I was struggling with writer's block.
> 
> But I hope what you find here is an enjoyable read.
> 
> I want to say thanks to Subtextiel, for his amazing artwork on this. It's beautiful. [You can check out the art masterpost here](https://feathergrave.tumblr.com/post/165481138975/smart-casual-i-had-an-absolutely-wonderful-time).
> 
> And I would like to say thanks to [superhoney](http://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney) for not only beta reading my fic, but convincing me to press on with it when I had some really big doubts about it being something anyone would want to read. Plus big thanks to [majesticduxk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk) for cheer-leading and betaing for me as well - thank you.
> 
> A little note on the tattooing in this fic: the after care instructions are based on what I've been told to do for the three tattoos I've had over the past couple of years. General tattooing and piercing stuff is based on what I've observed at my fave local parlor.
> 
> And thanks to [Mayalaen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mayalaen) for teaching me (even if the lesson wasn't intended for me) that a tattoo machine is a tattoo machine, and never a tattoo gun.

Coffee cup warming his hands, Dean Smith stared down into its inky black contents, almost daring himself to take a sip. He’d been off caffeine for two weeks that Thursday—another health kick—and the bitter smell was stirring a need inside of him he hadn’t known was there. Sam Wesson stared at him from across the table, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. Dean wondered if he should loosen his tie a touch more as he took in Sam’s plaid shirt, opened up at the top, three buttons undone. It was summer after all.

“Y’know you’re meant to drink that, right? Like, the caffeine isn’t just gonna be absorbed through your nose and eyeballs.” Sam picked up his own mug of coffee, filled with crap that Dean didn’t even want to think about, and took a long pointed sip.

Lips pursed, Dean looked from his cup to Sam and back again. And then he put the cup down and pushed it away. He flagged down one of the waitresses. “Hey, changed my mind, can I get a peppermint tea instead?”

The woman, auburn hair frazzled, expression unimpressed, raised an eyebrow. It was the start of the lunch rush. “Sure, so long as you pay for that cup.” Before Dean could reply she stalked off. Dean hoped he wasn’t going to end up with the tea in his lap.

“You’ll come back to it eventually,” Sam pointed out. “You always do. You can’t ignore that siren call.”

Dean shook his head and gave Sam a bemused smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam.”

Dropping the subject, Sam gave the diner menu a curious glance and asked, “So, how’s things at Sandover?”

And of course Wesson was gonna ask about that. “The IT department is hardly holding itself together since your absence. They tried outsourcing a load of it to some company in India… It’s getting messy.”

The waitress returned to their table and gently put down a small orange tea pot, which Dean could smell contained peppermint tea, and a matching cup. “Thank you,” said Dean.

“You gonna order anything to eat?” she asked.

Sam was smiling as he continued to stare at the menu. “I’ll take the double cheeseburger with fries, and why not add some bacon too, please.” He looked up at their waitress and gave her a gleaming smile.

“Sure thing.” The waitress wrote down Sam’s order and turned to Dean.

Dean hadn’t looked at the menu yet. “Uh, what’s the specials today?”

Folding her arms, like refusing a cup of coffee was a terrible offense, the waitress sucked in a breath and listed the specials, “We got a mean chili on today, there’s a… salad that might have quinoa in it? And a delightful leek and potato soup.” The salad was said in such a way that Dean guessed he might be dragged out if he picked it.

“I’ll take the chili,” Dean announced.

The waitress rolled her eyes, jotted down his order and walked off.

“What’s her problem?” Dean hissed at Sam.

“The problem is that tie is cutting off blood supply. Christ, man, lighten up. Enjoy yourself. Take a chance.” Sam took another sip of coffee. “If you don’t, your whole life will have gone by before you have a chance to live it.”

 _Wait, what?_ Dean stopped with the rebuke he’d been about to offer and weighed Sam’s words. _Sure, I make bank.. but is it enough?_ He looked at Sam again, noting how much happier he seemed than on his last day at Sandover.

“Where’s this coming from?” Dean pulled at his tie, loosening it some more, and then popped another shirt button. He immediately felt more comfortable.

“Look, we’ve known each other, what, two years? I did my time at that place and now I’m out here, doing what I want to do. Making more money. Being my own boss.”

“Well, you were tech suppor-”

“Dean, I pulled down, in the last month, more than I made in a year at that hell hole.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad.” Dean fidgeted with the tea pot’s handle. _In a month?!_

“Please, with Zachariah and the chiefs living it up like they make everything happen? Yeah, right. Someone like you could be making even more, setting your own hours, and living life, if you just gave up that corner office and-”

It finally clicked what Sam was about to say. Dean rolled his eyes and jabbed his pointer finger towards Sam. “You want me to work for you, don’t you?”

Sam huffed a breath and licked his lips. “Maybe I do. I can’t offer you a corner office, but you’ll be making as much as I do, and you’ll be in early enough for stock options.”

 _He’s serious._ Playing for time, Dean slowly poured some of the peppermint tea into his cup and wrapped his hands around it. He’d been at Sandover Bridge for five years, really cut his teeth at that place. Promoted every year with a raise each time. Sandover Bridge was trusted, respectable and likely to be around in ten years.

But Sam’s company? The one he’d started a year ago, with venture capital funding he’d gotten surprisingly quickly? He knew the app they had created might not even be around in the next twelve months. And ten years? _What if this is like… my Google moment, or something?_ Dean wondered. _And what if it’s my Yahoo! Moment? Christ…_

“Look, I don’t expect you to decide right away, Dean. Think it over. But know this: I know that if we were to add you to our team, we’d get even more VC interest, and your skills and experience would revolutionize how we’re selling now.” Sam smiled.

“Thanks. Thanks for the offer and yeah, I’ll think about it.” Dean gave Sam a smile. It was the first time in a long while that someone had complimented his professional skills and it hadn’t felt false. His line manager, Mr. Adler, was always going on about how good Dean was, but he never said it in a way that made him believe it.

“Okay,” the waitress interrupted, returning to the table with their orders. “Double cheeseburger with extra bacon for you. And… chili for you.” She set their food down and Dean realized that he had a lot more than he’d been expecting. A huge bowl of chili with sour cream and guacamole, and a large side bowl of nachos to dip in it.

Thinking it was a mistake, he looked up and caught the waitress’s eye as she picked up another order from the kitchen. The waitress winked at him and for the first time he noticed her name badge. “Martha” it read. Maybe she’d overheard some of their conversation? He wasn’t sure why her mood had improved, but Dean took it as a sign that maybe Sam was right. That maybe he should go and work for him.

He was still going think on the offer, and was definitely going to leave Martha a generous tip when they paid up. But as he started to pick up some chili with a nacho, Dean dared to let himself imagine what it would be like to work at a new company. A young company. To help give it direction and nurture it.

It would be an interesting when he went to the office tomorrow.

***

Coffee cup in hand, it was painfully obvious to Dean that his day had gone completely down the toilet. Maybe he should have paid attention to the first indication that things were not going to go his way: his Prius breaking down ten yards from his apartment’s basement parking lot. Still, Dean had been willing to chalk that up to the Prius coming up to being out of warranty, and he’d been thinking of getting something new anyway.

And then he’d been dragged into an emergency meeting he’d had no time to prepare for, because one of Sandover’s biggest clients was threatening to go to a competitor. Dean performed fucking miracles in front of the CEO and CFO. Leading a conference call while the two imposing men waited in the wings, and Zachariah leaned in a corner and looked at Dean with the kind of smile that would have been natural on Jaws.

Even after all that, Dean had been willing to just think that his day was just a little bumpy. Nothing more.

Then someone in HR opened an email laced with some kind of malware that within five minutes locked down anyone’s computer still connected to the damn network. Remembering Sam’s advice the last time that had happened at the office, Dean had promptly disconnected his laptop from _everything_. So by eleven in the morning he was desperate for something, and somehow coffee, black as death, fitted the bill.

His assistant, Ashley—new employee—stared at Dean as he sipped the coffee, strange appreciative rumbling noises coming from his chest. Like he was some kind of giant cat that liked coffee instead of milk. Ashley had never even seen Dean drink a cup of decaf, so she seemed really surprised to observe him going all out on the caffeine hit train. Part of Dean wished he was downing tequila as he ignored the looks he was getting from his assistant, but he knew booze was not going to help.

Heart rate ratcheting up even more, Dean put his coffee cup down, smacked his lips together and ordered Ashley to send in the guys from design. “And make sure they’ve got shoes on this time.”

The meeting went to hell. The designers didn’t see why they should drop the color scheme that they wanted to apply to a series of emails targeting managers in businesses they wanted to buy in from Sandover. Accusations of Dean having no sense of style or taste were hurled across his office and in the end, Dean had to call in the brand manager and a paralegal to back him up.

Why the designers were obsessed with misusing this one shade of purple, Dean would never know, but the brand manager and paralegal had his back. For once. Though he wondered why the designers were so stressed. They worked with Macs, so it wasn’t like their machines had been caught up in the earlier mess.

It wasn’t until three in the afternoon that Dean realized he had missed lunch. Most of the network was still down as technicians worked to scrub the systems and emergency contractors were called in to help out. No one was speaking favorably of the off-site IT contractors who had taken much of the kind of work Sam used to do. Dean wanted lunch.

Dean wanted to just claw back his Friday and make something good of it. He wanted to pull off his suit jacket, slacks and dress shirt and slip into some jeans and a v-neck t-shirt. Head to a bar and maybe see if he could drink some beer and play some pool. All crap he used to enjoy doing when he was in college and finished with assignments.

It was dull, but it felt like something that might soothe his frayed nerves.

“Hey, Ashley,” Dean said, stepping out of his office, leather laptop bag hanging from his right shoulder. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. And if the systems aren’t up in the next hour, I think you should head home too.”

“Uh, are you sure?” Ashley sounded surprised. Her curt blond bob wavered with tension.

“Positive. Have a good weekend.”

“You too, sir!”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Call me Dean.”

“You too, Dean.”

***

Worn jeans hanging loosely from his hips, Dean went into a bar near his apartment. He’d been in a few times, though mostly with Sam. It was four in the afternoon, he’d made a quick salad back at home after getting a taxi there, and was feeling a little less frayed now that he was out of the office. Ashley had sent him a text letting him know she’d left the office early and Dean had smiled to know that she’d felt comfortable enough following his suggestion. He was her boss, but they hadn’t exactly known each other very long, and he knew what it was like to be constantly trying to impress the people you worked for.

It felt too early to just grab a beer and start the process of numbing himself against the week that had passed. The beacon of hope that was Sam’s offer kept seeping into Dean’s thoughts, a better salve than any bottle of beer. So Dean had his second coffee of the day, the bitter liquid a reassuring warmth in his mouth as he sipped it at the bar. No one came over to bother him and that suited him fine as he listened to some sports news with distant interest.

His thoughts went over what Sam had said at their meeting the previous day. When was the last time that Dean had done something that he hadn’t done before? Something a bit out there? Taken a chance? He’d been playing it safe since starting and finishing grad school. Kept himself perfectly in check so that he could be, what, the perfect salesman and marketer? Other than the paycheck, did he want something more from what he did five days a week and some weekends?

The relaxing aspect of Dean’s Friday afternoon slipped away as he stared into his cup of coffee. It had been a long time since he had seriously thought about what he wanted from life for himself. He had some family (his Dad and Mom (Bobby and Ellen), and his sister Jo); few friends, and he hadn’t been on a date in months. It wasn’t like he could be himself at work anyway, and had mostly dated girls, because the last time anyone had come out at the office, Zachariah had made their lives unpleasant. Dean knew that if he went to work for Sam, he could be himself.

Dean rubbed his hand across the scarred wooden counter top he sat at, fingers finding all the little nicks and carvings made with purpose. A lot of people had sat down there before him, had lives that must have been more than working a job; trying out health fads; working out, and just plain old existing from paycheck to paycheck. Did Dean want a long term relationship? Did he want kids, a white picket fence and the whole nine yards, with maybe a golf membership on the side?

For reasons he couldn’t quite identify, settling down to that sort of apple pie life sounded too safe. Too much like the easy way out. He’d be adding on responsibilities, but still not doing anything for himself or making anything of himself. Making babies wasn’t something he had his heart set on, it was just something guys like him did once they settled down. Provide while either his partner or a nanny looked after the kids, because he was in the kind of job where work came first and family second.

The thought of that role structure made Dean feel a little queasy. He’d spent so long being all “alpha male” (you had to be in sales) that it wasn’t something he hungered for in his personal life. He didn’t relish being in control all of the time.

 _Though it’d be kinda nice to be the one who stayed home with the kids_ , Dean thought to himself as he continued to not drink his coffee.

Even with the startup culture Sam’s business had, Dean knew that they had a really nice childcare scheme and a small on site crèche. They were big on people not having to choose between work and family. Not that Dean wanted kids right there and then, but he did like the idea of being as involved in their lives as possible.

But Dean didn’t want to just go and work for Sam and continue as he had been the past few years. He itched for something more, and it was clear that he could really help shape the future of Wesson Technology, or WeT as Sam liked to call it.

“You just gonna stare at that coffee or are you gonna drink it?” asked the bar woman who’d served him twenty minutes earlier.

“Yes.” The coffee cup between his hands was lukewarm, but Dean chugged it down smiled and slid off his stool. “Thanks.”

He needed to stretch his legs so he headed out of the bar as more people started to drift in, clearly having ended their work days a little earlier because it was a Friday. Looking up and down the street, he decided to walk in the opposite direction to his apartment. He’d never walked this far from it before and he was suddenly more than a little curious as to what he might find.

Like Sam had said there was a whole world out there, and it was time to start being a part of it in a way that landing multi-million dollar contracts didn’t enable. The sun was lower in the sky, but heat rose up from the sidewalk, making Dean sweat a little. His eyes wandered over the storefronts and eateries he walked by.

Intricate swirls and waves caught the corner of Dean’s eyes and he stopped on the sidewalk and turned to look at the window that had grabbed his attention. It was a tattoo parlor and he could distantly hear the low beat of rock music as he stood outside of it, looking through the window. The walls inside seemed to be covered in a mixture of sketches of tattoos and photos of tattoos on various people, all tastefully done.

The parlor looked clean from the outside, and Dean’s eyes drifted up to the top of the storefront and read the establishment’s name.

“Angel Ink?” Dean muttered under his breath. “What kind of name is that?” he wondered out loud to himself.

“A good name, if you ask me,” said a man in a low gravelly voice.

Dean’s attention snapped to the owner of the voice leaning against the parlor doorway. Dean saw ruffled hair, startling azure eyes, studs and rings in ears, and ink that started at the guy’s neck and disappeared under a Nine Inch Nails band t-shirt, flaring all the way along his arms. Dean speculated for a second whether there was more on his legs, which were covered up by light blue jeans. Beautiful ink that contained so many images that Dean wasn’t able to take it all in as he found himself caught up in those eyes.

“Wanna come inside?” asked the guy.


	2. Chapter 2

The low sound of Harry’s stereo filled the parlor, something grungy playing. Harry’s client, a nimble twenty-something student, was in for some dermal piercings on her back. Castiel sat out front, playing receptionist, no bookings for that part of the day. He was available for walk-ins of course, he wasn’t going to turn down money unless he had good reason to.

Of course this meant he was surprised when a dirty-blond haired guy with bowed legs stood in front of Angel Ink and gave the parlor an intense, investigative gaze. The jeans the guy was wearing were a little too big for him, but Castiel liked the way the man’s Black Sabbath t-shirt clung to his chest. There was some definition to be found there. Castiel licked his lips and wondered if the man was going to come inside or not.

Instead the guy stood outside, intently staring everywhere but at Castiel, so Castiel got up from the front desk, edged his way outside and opened the door without ringing the bell. He leaned against the frame and waited.

“Angel Ink?” the guy muttered. “What kind of name is that?” he wondered out loud.

“A good name, if you ask me,” Castiel spoke up. “Wanna come inside?”

The guy swallowed hard and stared into Castiel’s eyes. If he got closer, Castiel was pretty sure he’d be able to make out freckles below beautiful green eyes. Despite how good the guy looked, Castiel wasn’t able to ignore the tension in the guy’s shoulders, like walking around and staring at tattoo parlors wasn’t his usual thing. And judging by the lack of ink on his arms or neck, Castiel guessed he probably was a little out of his element.

“Uh, sure.”

Castiel smiled and led the way into the parlor and leaned against the reception counter. He waved the guy onto the couch they had in the front.

“Okay, so you after a tattoo or a piercing? Our piercer is currently busy, but should be available in about ten minutes,” Castiel explained.

“Oh, uh, um...” the guy gave Castiel a nervous grin. “I… hadn’t thought about it, actually.”

“I’m Castiel by the way. And that’s cool. There’s no rush. You haven’t been drinking though, have you? And you look over eighteen, though I’ll need to see some ID.”

The guy blinked and nodded. “No, just coffee today. And I’ve eaten, if that’s important.”

“Definitely important.” Castiel nodded his head. The guy got his driver’s license out of his wallet and waved it at Castiel. He walked over and took the license, checking it out. Dean Smith was definitely over eighteen years of age and—“Local-local, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied nervously, taking his license back. And that was when Castiel remembered that this was probably the guy’s first time even coming into a place like Angel Ink.

“Look, if you aren’t after anything that’s cool. Getting a tattoo is definitely something you don’t wanna enter into lightly. It’s a big commitment, unlike most piercings. Well, some are definitely a commitment, like a Prince Albert.”

Dean frowned. “Prince Albert?”

The fact that Dean didn’t even know what a P and A was made Castiel suspect that maybe he’d try to get the guy to not rush into anything. Not that knowing what a Prince Albert is was a test of readiness for most of what Angel Ink offered. There was an innocence about Dean and Castiel was feeling less and less sure about marking it—and equally wanting to leave his mark.

“Prince Albert. It’s when you have the end of your dick pierced, under the shaft, near your urethra...” Castiel stopped talking, noticing Dean looked a little green. “But you don’t have to get that… Uh, so what do you, Dean? Y’know, when you’re not being invited inside of tattoo parlors?”

Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Work as a sales and marketing director.”

“Anywhere I know?” Castiel asked, hoping that the conversation was making Dean less queasy.

“Sandover Bridge and Iron Inc.”

“Woah.” _Well, not like I need to worry about him being able to pay then._

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, so… not that I’m wed to the place… But, I think I want a tattoo.”

Even though Castiel was normally for people doing anything with their own bodies, he was a little worried about Dean getting a tattoo. Sandover was a pretty square firm, not very accepting of alternative lifestyles and were well known for this, because of the money they gave to certain local church groups. This Castiel knew from first hand experience, growing up in a slightly religious household that went to one of the churches Sandover was supportive of. When Castiel had come out to his parents, they’d been accepting and understanding, but not their church. So they’d switched to somewhere more open in its beliefs, which also meant no Sandover money.

“Listen, y’know, a tattoo is a really big commitment,” Castiel repeated.

Dean shrugged. “I know, but I want to do something for me, not for somebody else, because they said that I had to, or it’s the thing to do. I want… I want...”

_I want to be myself_ , Castiel supplied in his thoughts as Dean stalled into silence. Castiel had no reason to refuse to serve Dean, and so he decided that he could at least help Dean not get fired if he had a tattoo.

“Okay, we’ll look at designs in a second. Have you thought about where you want one?” Castiel picked up one of the design books behind him, the black binder heavy in his hands.

Dean shook his head.

“Okay, well anywhere bony hurts like a son of a bitch. So I wouldn’t go wrist, ankle, collar bone, neck, or spine for a first one. But up here,” Castiel pointed to his upper left arm, carefully holding the binder with one hand, “that won’t hurt too much. Neither would your thigh, or… y’know, a butt cheek.”

A blush crept up Dean’s face and down his neck and Castiel wanted to do more than just ink Dean. He looked perfect and Castiel was pretty sure that if Dean wasn’t in the middle of a tattoo parlor for the first time he could probably get him to say a few more words. Castiel winked at Dean and Dean’s blush deepened.

“I always wear long sleeves in the office, so upper arm could work,” Dean squeaked out.

“Mind if I sit beside you?”

“G-go ahead.”

Castiel gave Dean a reassuring smile and then sat down beside him with the binder of tattoo designs. He flipped the binder open, resting it on his lap and started pointing out the designs there that would work on Dean’s arm. “You into anything spiritually, or got a fave sports team… quote? Don’t ask me for anything in kanji, like I don’t want to accidentally ink you with the words ‘you’re an ass’ or something.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No… to all of that. Though, uh, I got a thing for... god, you’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“No I won’t, go on.”

“Well… I really liked Batman as a kid. And I liked the Nolan movies a lot, not the third though, that one sucks balls. Uh, but I really do like Batman. Maybe, like I could have a batarang or Batman logo?” Dean ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Castiel knew the section in the binder he needed and he flicked through until he reached a page of Batman related designs he’d pulled together some time ago. “How about these?”

Leaning in towards Castiel so he could look at the page, Dean’s eyes grew wider as he took in the designs. “Did you design all of these?”

“I did.”

“Wow.” Dean traced a finger over the plastic covered page. “I like this one… Maybe?”

Maybe it was slightly on purpose, but Castiel leaned in towards Dean a little as he followed the other man’s gaze and finger to one of his designs. It was three batarangs that looked like they had been thrown in quick succession and were coming towards the viewer.

“Good choice.” Warmth spread through Castiel, because Dean was choosing one of his designs. A lot of people who came to Angel Ink for tattoos already had designs planned out and they just wanted Castiel to facilitate the design being added to their skin. So it felt like he was forming more of a connection with his work when it was based on something he had drawn.

Dean looked up at Castiel and Castiel met his gaze. Their noses were only a few inches apart and Castiel finally got a really good look at all of those many freckles. And thick eyelashes. Dean licked his lips and Castiel tracked the movement.

“Okay, Alice, please, remember to follow the care instructions, and have fun tonight,” Harry said from the doorway to his studio. Castiel rocked back from Dean and Dean shifted back from Castiel, like they’d both been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

But neither Harry nor Alice had seen them or deigned to acknowledge what they might have seen. Harry winked at Alice as he took cash from her and she waved, loose fitting gray t-shirt fluttering around her and her long black hair. Harry scratched at his beard as he closed the cash register, tank top loose on his shoulders, and then seemed to notice Castiel and Dean on the couch.

“Hey Castiel. You mind if I head off? Mom texted me and needs someone to help her take gramps to the store.”

Thought processes kicking back into gear, Castiel nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be closing up soon for the day anyway. Just flip the sign to closed, alright. Dean I can work on your tattoo now, if you want?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great.” Castiel discussed price with Dean as Harry got sorted out and then headed off. It was all really normal for a moment as Castiel got a template printed out onto a transfer sheet and talked Dean through the process after they finalized precisely where on his left arm the tattoo was going.

They walked into Castiel’s studio. There were a few moments as Castiel wrapped his tattoo chair in saran wrap, and then he pointed at the black leather tattoo chair for Dean to sit. Dean sat down and then Castiel pulled up a rest, covering it wrap, that went under Dean’s arm. The rest boosted his left arm from his body so he didn’t have to strain to hold his arm up. Sleeve already rolled up to Dean’s shoulder, Castiel gave the tattoo outline he’d rubbed on one more check over before rolling his stool up to Dean’s chair.

Castiel snapped on some clean black gloves, and sorted out his needle for his tattoo machine and the ink he was going to use, then swabbed the side of Dean’s arm. “Want to listen to music while we work?”

“Uhhh, sure.” Dean watched Castiel gather his supplies together.

“It’s customer’s choice.” Castiel sorted out his ink pots, the whole design would use black ink.

Dean let a long breath. “Okay, uh, classic rock.”

“Classic rock it is.” Castiel turned his head towards his stereo system. “Alexa, play classic rock.”

“Playing classic rock,” announced a disembodied female voice.

A Cream track, “White Room”, started playing through the stereo speakers aligned on one wall and Castiel hummed in approval.

“Dude, you got one of those, voice assistant things? Why not use Siri?”

Rechecking the needle in his tattoo machine, Castiel licked his lips. “Don’t like Apple.”

“Huh, I thought most art types went for Macs...”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow and held up the tattoo machine so that Dean could see it. “Art types, huh? Well this art type doesn’t like paying over the odds for hardware and is about to be sticking a needle in your skin.”

Eyes wide in slight panic, Dean looked absolutely terrified. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Realizing he’d been mean, Castiel shook his head. “I know you didn’t. Hey, why don’t you talk to me about your job?”

Starting up the machine, low buzz humming under the music welling in the room, Castiel waited for Dean to start talking. Dean turned away from his left arm and looked at the wall in front of him.

“It’s sales and marketing, Cas,” Dean explained. _Cas?_ Castiel thought to himself. _We’re on second date territory already?_ Castiel joked with himself.

“Right, but you say that and I don’t really know what you mean.”

“I suppose it is kind of vague. I-”

The ink-loaded needle made contact with Dean’s skin, and Dean hissed out a breath, but he didn’t flinch or cry. Castiel hummed. “Yes?”

“I’m director of sales and marketing, so I’m not as hands on with the creative side as I used to be,” Dean explained, voice a little higher than normal. “But I present sales pitches to potential and existing clients. Help plan out campaigns, go to trade shows, network, that kind of thing.”

“And do you enjoy it?” Castiel asked as he wiped away some of the excess ink and blood pricking up from Dean’s skin.

All that could be heard was the buzz of the tattoo machine and Jack Bruce with his backing music.

“Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves...” sung Jack Bruce.

“I’m not sure deep conversations about my job are what I need while I’m in your chair, no offense, Cas,” Dean hit back, voice quavering. Dean licked his lips and Castiel had to force himself not to follow the movement from the corner of of his eye.

_It’s like that huh?_ Castiel suddenly found it even more interesting that Dean had wound up in his parlor. He got the feeling that Dean was maybe going through a bit of a crisis, the quaver in his voice when he spoke of his job wasn’t all from the gun.

“Okay, well, do you want to keep talking?” Castiel asked as Jefferson Airplane started to play over the stereo.

“Sure. Let’s talk about you. How’d you end up working in a tattoo parlor?”

“It’s actually my tattoo parlor.”

“Small business owner, huh?”

“Yep. Do you really want to hear this?”

Clearing his throat, Dean coughed a little. “Yeah… you have a nice voice.”

_Oh, well now…_ Castiel more than suspected at this point that Dean was interested in him. He decided to humor Dean. “It may shock you to learn that I went to art school. And I’m sure my chosen profession probably would be a source of disappointment to many of my very self-interested professors, but that would involve them caring for someone other than themselves for more than ten seconds.”

“Ho, I smell a story there.” Dean smirked at Castiel and then winced.

“Yeah, well, it mostly involves a lot of weed, terrible hairstyles and people not thinking about how they’re gonna live. I went to art school to learn how to draw. I wanted to be a tattooist before I went. Bring art to life on the canvas that is humanity. Or whatever. I wanted to know how to draw before I tried to figure out the whole needle stuff.” Castiel dipped the needle into his ink pot and took it back to Dean’s arm.

“Wait, do you mean most of the people you went to college with didn’t know how they were gonna earn a living?” Dean sounded confused, like not having this amount of foresight was foreign to him.

Castiel bobbed his head. “I mean just that. They thought they’d sell their art and be able to live that way. Okay, a few of us knew what we’d do. Had an idea of how the world works. But I was studying alongside a lot of starving artists in the making.” _Some even starving while I was there, because they thought themselves above getting a part-time job to at least put some ramen on the table._

“I suppose you were… So how’d you end up with here?”

“I worked in someone else’s tattoo parlor, near art school, learning the trade before and after graduation. That was in LA.”

“Wait, you use to live in LA?” Dean sounded shocked.

“Yeah. Didn’t much like it. I was from Columbus, so when I was ready, I came home and opened this place up.” _Well, ready might be a bit much, but I’m not telling this guy my sob story right now._

Even without looking up from what he was inking on Dean’s arm, Castiel could tell Dean was glancing around the studio taking in his surroundings again. Castiel knew what Dean would ask next.

“How’d you afford to set up?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “I was a mobile tattooist first. Had my mobile kit in the back of a van I’d use for house call outs. When I’d saved enough, I set up here.”

“Mobile tattooist?”

“Yeah, like dog groomers or beauticians.”

Dean seemed more at ease the longer Castiel talked, so he continued. The awkward customers; minor local celebrities; underage idiots, and drunker than a skunk ones—“Why can’t you ink someone who’s been drinking?” “They’ll bleed more.”—anyone who’d stuck out in Castiel’s memories after owning the place for two years. Working through the design, changing needles as needed when it came to start filling in the black of the batarangs, Castiel enjoyed answering Dean’s questions.

The guy was hot and nice to talk to. A rare combination in Castiel’s experience, though he got the feeling that the side of Dean he was seeing wasn’t one that Dean showed at work, or around many other people.

When the tattoo was finished, it covered a patch of skin no wider than two inches. Castiel allowed Dean to admire his handiwork before wrapping it in cellophane and beginning his aftercare instructions.

“You need to leave that on for one to two hours, then take it off and gently wash it with some soap and water. Pat it dry, then apply a thin layer of the antiseptic aftercare cream I gave you earlier. You should wash and dry it like I said, two to four times a day for the next few days. Then it’s gonna start to scab...” Castiel explained as he helped Dean out the tattoo chair. He talked Dean through what to do after those first few days and how long it would take to deal.

They reached the reception desk and Dean paid for the tattoo, plus a generous tip. Dean hesitated with a pot of the antiseptic aftercare cream in his hand. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to say something. Without asking, Dean reached over to the counter and grabbed an appointment card and a pen. He scribbled something onto the card and then left it there.

“Thanks, Cas. Call me or something sometime and maybe we can go get a beer.”

Just as Dean looked ready to bolt, Castiel dug out a business card of his and handed it to Dean. “Yeah, well call me if you have problems with the tattoo or, y’know, wanna grab that beer.” Castiel’s fingers brushed over Dean’s as he gave him the card. Castiel’s breath caught in his chest and then he stepped back, giving Dean space.

“Y-yeah. Maybe I’ll do that,” Dean mumbled and then the other man was bolting out of the parlor and stepping quickly down the street.

_What was… yeah, okay… um… That was nice?_ Castiel went about closing up the parlor, checking that everything was switched off. He locked up and headed in the opposite direction to Dean.

When he got to the lot his car was in, he texted Harry to see if he’d be up for going to the bar that night. And then he added Dean’s number to his cellphone.

***

Castiel sat in his friend’s club, picking at the label on his beer bottle. He wasn’t usually one to fall so hard so fast but there had been something about that Dean Smith guy. Something he hadn’t felt before—like he’d been shot with an arrow to the heart.

Yeah, this was new territory. Still not as scary as standing up to his dad, or starting his own business, but still scary enough.

“What the bloody hell?!” roared Balthazar.

Shifting in his seat, Castiel turned to see Balthazar, the bar owner, with some stocky looking guy who looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The stranger was being roughly handled by Balthazar, the bar owner’s hands fisted the stranger’s suit jacket and dress shirt.

“Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen was playing in the background. Castiel’s muscles tensed, readying him to defend his friend should he need to. Balthazar’s face was contorted in anger, brow dangerously low, lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

The stranger said something Castiel couldn’t hear.

“Oh no, i don’t care for your excuses! you come here selling your garbage again, and I promise you that the cops will be the least of what you need to worry about!” Balthazar shouted, voice audible above the music. He fisted the stranger’s clothes tighter, bringing him closer. “Get out!” Balthazar shoved the guy to the ground.

The stranger scrambled to his feet, gave Balthazar a pointed look and then stalked out of the club. There was movement behind Castiel and he turned to see Harry coming back from the restroom.

“Did I miss something?” Harry asked, voice just loud enough to be heard, and sat down beside Castiel. He picked up his own bottle of beer and took a swig.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Castiel shouted back over the music. The crowd that had gathered to watch the argument was slowly getting back to drinking, dancing and talking. Balthazar had gone back to his office as far as Castiel could tell.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Harry asked above the din.

“I said, I’m sure it was nothing,” Castiel shouted back louder, fingers finally peeling the label off his beer bottle.


	3. Chapter 3

No one in the office was ready to be there. It was a Monday, just over a week since Dean got his tattoo and even though his tattoo was flaking, it seemed more stable than their computer systems. The network was in pieces again and no one in charge of their systems seemed to know what the hell they should be doing. Dean had spent the weekend sorting out a few things around his apartment, looking up another cleanse, thinking and not thinking about Sam’s offer. Then considering it. And then thinking and not thinking about sinking to his knees in front of Castiel.

But the text messages they had been sending each other for the past week had been intense to say the least. Mutual interest had been assured when Castiel had mentioned their almost kiss and then Dean said he’d wished they had kissed. The butterflies that were in his stomach were a combination of serious crushing and near arousal. Their texts had been a mix of what they were into and then increasingly, _what they were into_.

Dean had finally opened up to Castiel about wanting to explore a side to himself he’d never really given into before. Nothing too serious, but Dean had asked about whether Castiel knew much about BDSM. It turned out Cas did, and Dean had to avoid looking at those particular texts while around company at work.

Thinking he still had time before his day started, Dean was in the restroom. It was empty bar Dean. Shirt undone and left arm out of its sleeve, Dean gently rubbed some of the antiseptic balm into it. So far everything seemed fine. He’d managed to avoid any bleeding at the start and it was healing up nicely. Missing out on going to the pool at his favorite spa had been a pain, but Dean had decided that Castiel’s handiwork was worth suffering for.

“Hey, Dean… Oh, is that a tattoo?” a familiar voice asked.

Dean’s head whipped up and he saw Garth hovering near the entrance to the restroom. He was thankful it wasn’t Zachariah who’d walked in, not that he could do anything: Dean had triple checked the employee handbook and his tattoo was completely within the limits of what the company allowed. So long as he kept it covered in the office—and he wasn’t in the office, he was in the goddamn restroom.

“Yeah it is.” Dean finished putting the balm on and then closed up the jar. “Close the door.”

“Oops, sorry.” Garth closed the brushed stainless steel door and stepped up to Dean. “Can I look?”

Silently rolling his eyes, Dean left his arm out of his shirt and twisted towards Garth so he could see the tattoo. “Okay?”

“Is that a bunch of batarangs being thrown?” Garth asked, nose almost touching Dean’s arm.

“Yep. May I?” Dean made to put his arm back in his sleeve.

“Right, sorry.” Garth backed off and Dean put his arm back in his shirt sleeve. He looked at himself in the mirror while he did up his shirt buttons, tie and then pushed his cuff-link back through again.

 _Okay, buttons done, collar done, cuff done… Yep, ready_. “Alright, well I have a meeting with the sales team to head to, so see ya later, Garth.”

“Later… oh, where’d you get it done?”

“Angel Ink,” Dean said over his shoulder. Heading to the other side of the floor, Dean reached the meeting room the sales team was waiting in. He glanced through the glass wall and took in who was there.

Not one of the people there could he call a friend. Any number of them would want his job, but none of them had the acumen to understand both sales and marketing, which was why he was so good. Still, as Dean thought about it: not being able to call one of his colleagues a friend did start to bother him. He’d never wanted to be their disconnected boss, but he’d never been close to any of them and only one was from his pre-director days. Dean headed inside.

It was rare for anyone to last long in sales. If you didn’t make it in the first year, you probably weren’t cut out for it, but those with experience did best. Dean realized that if the rest of the team didn’t have any wins soon, he’d have to look for new sales team members. He hated having to fire and hire, it made it hard to build trust, but while he was able to live a bit longer with sales newbies finding their feet, Zachariah was less forgiving. Even if their lack of serious wins to start with wasn’t costing the company.

 _Who knew construction could be so damn ruthless?_ Dean resisted laughing to himself out loud as his sales team talked through the latest figures, leads and any deals they believed they could close that week. Dean listened with half an ear and tried to remember if the cleanse he was thinking of starting allowed black coffee or not.

The door to the meeting room was pulled open and Dean’s attention snapped to the interloper who was entering their Monday morning kick-off. Zachariah stepped into the room, silencing everyone.

“Dean, may I have a quick word?” Zachariah asked.

Stomach dropping, Dean nodded, showing none of his inner fear. He turned to the rest of the team. “I want you ready to tell me how we’re gonna close the Zephyr deal this week.” Without waiting for anyone to answer him, Dean left his seat and walked out of the room.

The door pulled itself closed behind Dean and Zachariah. Dean schooled his face to his patented professionally polite smile and waited for Zachariah to spill the beans. It was difficult not to look at the way the hallway lights were reflected on Zachariah’s balding head.

“Listen, Dean, I need you to look over some performance reviews this week. Nothing super important, immediate. But I need names.” Zachariah gave Dean a smile that meant that he wanted names that could be chopped from the team.

 _Even think of the Devil and the asshole appears_. Dean nodded in understanding, smile starting to feel strained, but he kept his facial muscles in place. Kept up the act. “Sure thing, Zach.”

“I think you can should definitely include Taylor on the list. She hasn’t been meeting targets for three weeks.”

Dean held himself back from swearing at Zach. Taylor was a superb team player, she might not have closed any deals by herself, but she had sourced a lot of resources to help the rest of the team close over the past three weeks. And she also had a kid to feed. Anger boiled within Dean, making him curl his hands into fists. Sam’s offer hung over like a rescue cord from a helicopter.

His world was catching fire around him and Dean knew he could do better. Dean swallowed, took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Taylor was instrumental in us getting the Richards, Roman and Summers accounts. She may not have closed deals by herself, but it was her research, her presentations that got them for us,” Dean explained in a level voice.

Zachariah scowled. “If you can’t do this, Dean, then I’ll go ask someone else.”

“Then don’t ask me to pick and also tell me who to choose when you don’t know what’s going on.” Dean squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter.

What appeared to be fear crept into Zachariah’s eyes. Dean knew he held all the cards, because no matter the performance of single individuals, Dean’s team always exceeded its targets. This was unnecessary culling of low hanging fruit and Dean didn’t want to play Zachariah's games any more.

All Zachariah could do was try to corner Dean somewhere else, on another playing field. “Are you free for lunch later?”

Sam’s words from their last meet up ran through Dean’s mind: “ _Someone like you could be making even more, setting your own hours, and living life, if you just gave up that corner office...”_

Huffing out a breath, Dean grinned and replied, “Sorry Zach, but I’m not free for lunch today. I’m gonna be too busy writing my letter of resignation.”

Turning on his heel, Dean stalked away from Zachariah and headed back into the meeting room.

***

“Sam?” Dean asked in a hushed voice while stood in the corner of the men’s restroom. His cellphone was so close to the side of his face that Dean did worry whether he was about to start becoming _Tetsuo Iron Man_.

“Hey Dean. Everything all right?” Sam sounded worried.

“I want the job.”

Silence, then—“Fu- Dean. Thank you. Than-”

Dean shushed him. “Look, I literally just said I’m resigning. I’ve got a load of vacation I’m due. But also, I need to bring two people with me. Someone on my sales team and my assistant, Ashley.”

“Sure. We can talk specifics when you come in. We definitely have the space.”

For several minutes the two of them ironed out the small details that meant Dean could go back to Ashley and Taylor, and make them an offer. Dean would go to WeT the following morning, but he and Sam would be meeting up for drinks that evening.

The air was tense in the office when Dean returned, but he spent the rest of the morning handling the calls and emails that he needed to, working through them with an efficiency he hadn’t had in awhile. He called Ashley and Taylor in separately, asking them to meet with him just after office hours.

Dean had decided by lunchtime to just quit. Zachariah had gone into his office, trying to offer him a raise and Dean wasn’t having any of it. Pay wasn’t the issue. Living was. He could survive a month without pay—his job paid more than he could spend and Dean had saved wisely. Every second Dean spent with Zachariah confirmed to him that he needed out, because Zachariah couldn’t understand a single word of what he was saying.

“Dean, Sandover Bridge and Iron Inc. is a family you have a future with. We-”

“I don’t appreciate the company’s wider views. Or corporate culture,” Dean said simply. “It’s taken me some time to realize this, but I no longer have any desire to be a part of the Sandover story.”

Zachariah stared at him, eyes bugging out. “You would have made VP in less than a year!”

Shrugging, Dean shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I want out. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to send a few briefings to the rest of the sales team and a few of our marketers so you’re not left hanging over the next few weeks.”

“If this is about Taylor-”

Huffing out a breath, Dean shook his head again. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’m saying? Sandover and me: we’re not a good fit. We may never have been a good fit.”

Zachariah’s right eye twitched and then he heaved himself out of his chair and left Dean’s office without another word. The rest of Dean’s day had gone pretty quickly after that, and HR had given him little trouble. He left Sandover that day with a box in his hands containing the few personal touches he’d ever brought to his corner office.

Despite the confidence he walked with when he left that day, Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting himself in for. But an hour later he met with Ashley and Taylor, and they listened to his offer and they said yes. They’d formally resign and work out their remaining weeks, but they’d join Dean soon enough.

Hope swelled in Dean’s chest.

***

Maybe food beforehand would have been a good idea, because Sam had insisted on dragging Dean straight to one of his favorite bars near WeT’s offices. It was an Asian fusion and karaoke bar that Dean was familiar with. Sandover had been involved in its construction. It felt weird being in a bar on a Monday evening, but it didn’t feel wrong.

“Hey, can we get the Sayuri sake for two. Chilled of course,” Sam asked their server.

The server bobbed her head of short dark hair and smiled. “Good choice for the time of year. Do you wish to order food yet?”

“Uhhhh,” Dean started.

“Do you mind if I order for you?” Sam asked, face warm and welcoming. He hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d met with Dean.

“Uh, sure. If you know what’s good.” Dean rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, trying to return Sam’s smile.

“Oh I do.” Sam started to order. The other man looked comfortable as he sat there in the bar’s restaurant area. Sam was the opposite of Dean in how he carried himself: calm and at ease in his ragged jeans and well fitting red plaid.

Instead of wearing the suit he’d gone to the office in, Dean had gone home to change. He had changed into jeans, a plain deep blue shirt and a black t-shirt. His hair was softly styled, but he felt anxious being out at a bar in such casual clothes. Ties, braces, dress shirts and slacks, leather Oxfords: these were Dean’s armor whenever he was in a situation where he felt expectations were being placed on him.

All Sandover had been was a constant drive to meet expectations, and aside from meeting with Sam, Dean had mostly socialized outside of work with directors, VPs, the CEO and CFO here and there. Of course meetings at the club meant polo shirts and tweed, but again that had been armor.

 _God, the club,_ Dean thought to himself. Not that he liked the politics that came up whenever he met anyone at Oak Country Club, but he had enjoyed playing golf. He paid for his own membership, but many of the people on the board of Sandover also had a say in the membership at Oak. _There are other country clubs. Other greens, Dean. It’ll be fine_.

“So I’m not gonna get you too drunk, I do want you to actually be able to get into the office tomorrow morning, but,” Sam poured Dean a cup of sake from the bottle that had appeared, “I want you to relax, man. The hardest part is done.” Sam poured a cup for himself and picked it up, signaling to Dean to do the same. “KANPAI!” Sam toasted, knocking their porcelain sake cups together.

“KANPAI!” Dean mimicked and then took a small measured sip of the cool beverage, just like Sam did.

Sipping sake as they waited for their food, Sam talked to Dean about the offer and noted down some specifics. Dean was surprised by how much Sam knew his stuff, and he started to really understand how Sam was more than just some techie: he had that entrepreneurial spark that Dean had never quite possessed.

“How’d Zachariah take the news?” Sam finally asked after their food had arrived. They both had bowls of chicken broth, udon noodles, veggies, shredded chicken and a boiled egg sliced in half.

Dean slurped on a noodle and looked down at his bowl. “Oh you know. Made offers. Veiled threats here and there.” Dean looked up from his bowl and grinned at Sam. “The usual.”

“But other than quitting your job, anything else going on?” Sam eyed the side of Dean’s left arm.

Frowning, Dean looked from his arm to Sam and back again before turning back to Sam. “Pardon?”

“You’ve been protective of that thing all night, Dean.”

And maybe Dean hadn’t consciously noticed how he’d been favoring his left arm so he didn’t knock his tattoo, but obviously he must have been. Rather than explaining with words, Dean silently pulled his arm out of his shirt and then raised his t-shirt sleeve to show Sam his tattoo.

“Why, Dean, I didn’t know you had a geeky side. Nice batarangs.” Sam winked at Dean and sat back.

Dean covered up his tattoo, mentally reminding himself to take care of it again before he went to bed. “You got any tattoos?”

Sam swallowed some broth and nodded. “Yeah. I have one.”

“Well?”

A grin spread out over Sam’s face while blush rose to his cheeks. “It’s Superman’s shield. In black.”

“Can I see?”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Um. No.”

Despite the genial conversation the rest of that evening, Dean didn’t manage to get out of Sam where his Superman tattoo was. What he did get instead was dragged into the karaoke part of the establishment, leaving the safety of their restaurant table for a booth filled with several of Sam’s friends, and a couple of people Dean recognized from WeT.

The sake made Sam’s rendition of “Uptown Funk” something that Dean was unlikely to ever forget, but then Dean was having the song book pushed in front of him and being told to choose. Dean hadn’t done karaoke since college and he wasn’t sure if he could still really sing, but he looked through the song book and ended up picking out something a bit more modern than he normally might.

A guy called Benny, one of WeT’s operations managers, crooned his way through Bowie’s (well, Ziggy’s) “Starman” before it was finally Dean’s turn. Taking the microphone, Dean stood up from his seat and cleared his throat. A familiar bass line started to be plucked over the speakers and a countdown started on the lyric screen.

Eyes raised towards Dean expectantly.

“I'm gonna fight 'em all,” Dean began. “A seven nation army couldn't hold me back. They're gonna rip it off. Taking their time right behind my back...” Dean’s eyes darted away from the lyric screen for a moment, The White Stripes’ song familiar enough to Dean that he didn’t need the screen’s help. His concentration had been drawn away by instinct: he was being watched by someone from outside of the party.

Blue eyes met his gaze through the booth’s opening and Dean felt his stomach flip as he saw Castiel standing outside the booth with two beers.

“And I'm talking to myself at night. Because I can't forget. Back and forth through my mind. Behind a cigarette. And the message coming from my eyes. Says leave it alone...” Dean sung and Cas mimed with him, lips shaping the words. It wasn’t the coolest song to be caught singing (not by Dean’s usual standards), but Dean couldn’t ignore the way his skin tingled pleasantly under Castiel’s attention.

It took some effort to finish the song, but once the lyrics were done and the final bridge was playing, Dean excused himself from his group and went over to Cas, who had stayed rooted to the spot. Unworried what his party might see, Dean stepped close to Cas, slightly beyond normal personal space boundaries.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted.

The tattooist licked his lips and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, as if he was regarding Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

“Sorry I haven’t called or texted today,” Dean apologized. “Things got kinda hectic at work.”

Cas closed the distance and whispered into Dean’s ear, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

Two minutes later, the beers had been left with Harry from Angel Ink. Cas dragged Dean into the men’s restroom, locking the door behind them. The hungry look in Castiel’s eyes told Dean that Cas hadn’t just been texting him a fantasy—it was what he wanted. Dean wasted no time in opening Castiel’s flies, pulling his chubbing length out, and swallowing Cas down.

The musky tang of Castiel’s dick made Dean moan as he bobbed his head, working Cas. Hand circled around the base of Castiel’s length, Dean tried not to drool all over Castiel’s jeans as he made Cas pant and moan above him. Castiel was trembling ever so slightly as Dean sped up.

“Fuck, Dean… I thought you were just playing along… But,” Cas curled his fingers tightly into Dean’s hair, “obviously you haven’t. You want this.” Castiel’s hand tugged hard on Dean’s head and Dean groaned happily around Cas. The sting on his scalp made Dean’s dick pulse gently with precome inside his boxers.

“You look beautiful on your knees.” Castiel’s hand tensed further. “Dean… fuck...”

Cas was slowly losing himself and Dean loved it. Pressing his tongue against the underside of Castiel’s shaft on the upwards move, Dean hummed as well, making Cas grip him harder.

And just as Dean thought Cas was going to come in his mouth, Cas pulled out and took over. Dean watched as Cas wrapped his hand around his cock and fisted himself three times. But Dean knew what was about to happen and closed his eyes, gasping as Castiel’s come splattered onto his cheeks and chin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous Dean,” Cas moaned, voice breaking. Then Cas was on his knees, licking his come from Dean’s face, before reaching down to Dean’s straining length. Cas squeezed Dean’s dick through his jeans and whispered into Dean’s ear, “Think you can wait for me, Dean?”

Then Cas got to his feet, put his dick away and washed his hands before heading out of the restroom. Dean got to his feet, dick hard and demanding. But Dean couldn’t mistake the implication of Castiel’s words. They’d talked about this in their previous texts, setting up a framework if they were to try something after they’d revealed their mutual interest in not so vanilla things. A text a few minutes later confirmed this:

 **Cas** : No coming until I stay so. Color?

Dean’s thumbs quickly typed out a reply.

 **Dean** : Green.

So Dean willed himself as calm as possible, splashed some water on his face and then finally left the restroom.

Sam watched Dean with amusement as he rejoined their booth. “Who was that?”

Letting out a long breath, Dean poured himself a cup of sake. He couldn’t remember how many cups he’d had that night. “My tattooist.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You won’t tattoo my boyfriend’s name on me?” the woman pouted, long brown curls shifting as she crossed her arms. Morning sunlight lit the reception area, it was shaping up to be a pleasant Friday. Harry could be heard working in his studio, something by The White Stripes playing—he’d been playing a lot of White Stripes since Monday evening.

“Why can’t we get each other’s names?” the boyfriend reiterated. His strong arms were crossed over his chest.

Castiel’s jaw was set firm. He liked making money, sure, but he had a set of ethical policies that were stuck to the wall behind the counter. He jacked his thumb towards the laminated policy sheet. “Angel Ink does not tattoo the names of people customers are romantically involved with. I’m happy you both have each other. I’m sure you’re both very happy. But we just don’t do that sort of tattoo here.”

The boyfriend drew himself up, trying to match Castiel’s height. Castiel sighed and pointed out instead, “If you want to get _matching_ tattoos, or one that fits together, though, we can do that.”

The woman leaned towards her boyfriend and whispered something to him. He nodded and then they looked back to Castiel. “Okay, that’s… reasonable,” the woman accepted.

Castiel checked their IDs while the two of them looked at designs. They were legally old enough to get tattoos. The two of them, Betty and James, had calmed down and seemed very much in love as they looked through small designs that they might both have. James didn’t want anything too girlie and Betty didn’t want anything too butch.

“I don’t know,” Betty grumped as the two of them reached the end of the designs.

Of course Castiel wouldn’t be a good tattooist if he wasn’t prepared for this. “Is there a particular book, or movie or TV show that both of you like?”

“Well, uh, we kind of like the Harry Potter books a lot,” Betty admitted, ducking her head.

James blushed and it was kind of adorable, but Castiel showed no sign of having noticed the guy blushing. He didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

“Okay I can work with that...” Castiel said.

It turned out that the two of them had taken a Patronus quiz at some point. So Castiel worked on giving them Patronus tattoos on the insides of their arms. It was cute. Castiel tattooed James first and then Betty, James got a small owl and Betty had a small lynx. Despite the earlier disagreement, the two of them tipped well when they left and Castiel was pleased, considering this was one of the few days that week he had no bookings for the morning.

But once he was alone with his thoughts again and his studio was clean, Castiel pulled out his cellphone and thumbed through to Dean’s number. Monday night had replayed in his head so many times that week. The two of them had texted since, but Dean had, in theory, not come since Castiel had left him high and dry back in that restroom. The messages had been 75 percent asking how the other was and 25 percent Castiel telling Dean to masturbate and not come. With pictures.

Of course the second message when this had started had been Castiel asking Dean if he really was okay with this. Dean had said he was, and was happy to use “green”, “yellow” or “red”, like they had previously discussed. If Dean texted or called Castiel with “red”, then Castiel’s edging of Dean would immediately cease. Dean hadn’t taken his out yet. He’d “yellowed” a few times and Castiel had helped him through those moments, sending him messages about how good he was and how well he was doing.

Castiel got the impression Dean wasn’t used to praise. He’d used blushing emoji when this happened, before saying he was “green” again.

As if Dean had known Castiel had been thinking of him, Castiel’s cell started to vibrate with an incoming call from Dean. Castiel slid the button to answer and held the cell to his ear.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said with a long breath. He sounded wound up.

“Everything okay, Dean?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Was wondering if you wanted to meet up for dinner tonight?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” The skin on Castiel’s neck prickled, in a nice way. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked him on a date. When Dean had been so responsive to his texts, Castiel thought he’d found someone new to play with, but the idea that Dean might want more was something Castiel suddenly found himself wanting.

“I’ll meet you at the shop?”

A smile curled the edges of Castiel’s mouth. “Yeah. I’ll be closing at six.”

“Great, I’ll see you then...”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I want you to go into the nearest restroom when you hang up. You’re to lock yourself in a stall. Pull your dick—”

“Fuck!”

“Out. And then I want you to stroke yourself until you’re almost there. Thinking of what it’ll feel like riding my cock. Do you understand, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean whispered.

“I’ll see you at six.” Castiel hung up and stowed his cell. He had an hour until his next appointment, so he went to grab some tacos from down the street.

***

Dean arrived at six, like he’d been told. He was dressed in a casual pair of teal slacks and a gray v-neck shirt. It was very smart casual in comparison to Castiel’s black tank and stone-washed ripped jeans. He could feel Dean staring at him—maybe it was because Castiel had all of his piercings in his ears, several hoops and studs in each. Or the fact that the tank showed off even more of his sleeve tattoos. The tattoos were quite intricate and vast at the same time, with angels, crosses, a strange script that he only just understood and many other relics of faith.

Castiel kept glancing over his shoulder while he locked up, he thought Dean looked calm and collected, which surprised him a little. And then he went over to Dean and brushed his hand down Dean’s bare left forearm.

“Cas,” Dean whimpered. _So he’s only just holding it together_.

“Dean,” Castiel leaned in towards Dean, “take me to dinner.”

A shudder visibly ran through Dean, but he nodded and led the way to his car parked down the street. He hadn’t been expecting the silver Prius when they reached it and Castiel smirked at Dean’s car.

“A Prius, really?”

Dean shot Castiel a look. “It gets good mileage.”

“Uh huh.” Castiel allowed himself to be directed into the vehicle, though he wondered how Dean had ended up with this plain car. It just didn’t suit the Dean he was coming to know, the man who dared to step outside of his comfort zone.

“The warranty is almost up… I’m thinking of getting a new car,” Dean admitted as he got the ignition going. He indicated out of his parking space and merged in with the traffic. “Stupid thing’s been in the shop more than on the road these past few weeks.”

“New? Why not something old. Something classic,” Castiel teased. He still had no idea where they were going for dinner.

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment as he drove, eyes on the road. He was seriously considering Castiel’s suggestion as they drove through the later half of rush hour. The roads weren’t stock still, but it was slow going.

“I wouldn’t be able to handle driving stick,” Dean announced.

“I didn’t say you’d have to. But c’mon, why not something that looks like it was designed and not cloned. Something with a bit of soul. Character to it.”

Dean laughed. “You sound like Sam.”

“Sam?”

“My new boss.”

Castiel looked over at Dean with a quirked eyebrow and Dean snatched a glimpse back at him.

“Right… didn’t tell you on Monday.”

“Or in the hundreds of texts we’ve sent each other...”

Dean sucked in a long breath and slowly let it out. “I quit Sandover on Monday. And I’m already in a new job. Working for Sam Wesson at his company WeT.”

“Forgive me, but did you just say, _wet_?”

Cheeks reddening, Dean nodded and kept his eyes on the road. “WeT, stands for Wesson Technology. And yes, I already asked him if he wanted to change the name, but Sam’s determined to stay WeT… God, that sounds awful.”

“You need to do more persuading.” Castiel set his left hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder and said, “It’s for his own good. You know… I get that the company has something to do with tech, but I’ve never heard of them.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, they’re new. But they already have some big clients.”

“What do they _do_?”

“Connected devices and applications for business.”

“Interesting.” Castiel relaxed in his seat, though his hands kept moving in his lap as he twiddled his thumbs. He was a little surprised that Dean hadn’t told him this news. It was pretty big, but then they’d only known each other a couple of weeks at this point. They hadn’t even defined what they were. All they’d figured out was a light system, desires and a whole lot of unresolved sexual tension on Dean’s part.

Did Castiel imagine that what was happening between the two of them was more than a fling? Dean had asked him on a date after all. It felt more than the usual passing moments of pleasure he had with people who were in his life one minute and then gone the next. But Castiel was unsure. He’d had so few long-term relationships over the years. Not because he hated them, but it was so hard to find people he really clicked with and he was definitely clicking with Dean.

But Dean had blown him before they’d even gone out on a date. _What is this?_ Castiel pondered as Dean drove Castiel to their unknown destination. In some ways he didn’t want to rush to define what they had—he was happy teasing Dean for now and part of him was eager to finally give Dean what he needed. Was a light Dom/sub relationship really a thing to define beyond those acts?

“I hope you like the place I picked out. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but you’d said in a message earlier in the week that you weren’t veggie, so… I figured we had options,” Dean rambled on as he drove.

“Yes, options,” Castiel parroted back. Why was he so keen to categorize and define what the two of them had growing between each other? Castiel tried to understand what he was feeling beyond desire and lust. Because he realized it did hurt a little that Dean hadn’t said anything about quitting his job, hadn’t said anything _after_ they had hooked up at the karaoke bar.

Maybe the end of the evening would give Castiel the clarity he needed.

***

“Huh, this is… nice,” Castiel said in an uncertain voice. “Nice” was probably an understatement really, because Dean had driven them to the swankiest steakhouse Castiel had ever seen. The chairs were oak with plush, real leather seats. All of the art on the walls was for sale. And there were no children.

Dean practically glowed at him. “I haven’t been here in a while and my mouth is watering already. C’mon.”

They walked to the front of house and were greeted by a female member of staff. Her badge said “Josie”—her hair was pulled back in a tight brown bun, her uniform (red dress shirt and black dress slacks, with leather pumps) was clean and closely cut. Castiel caught a brief flicker of disgust as she took in the two of them (they were standing closer than friends might)—before she put on a mask of professionalism.

“Good evening. Table for two?” Josie asked.

“Yes.” Dean stepped a little closer to Castiel and brushed their hands together. Getting the hint, Castiel reached out for Dean’s hand, feeling a spark of want as Dean wrapped his hand around his.

They were led away from any seats that were beside the restaurant’s windows. And Castiel felt disappointment building as they were led further and further back until they reached a booth for two. He knew what Josie was doing and he could feel his anger slowly growing. Dean was tense beside him, seeing what Castiel did as well. There was over a dozen tables still without any diners sat at them, but Dean and Castiel had been shoved at the back.

The two of them sat opposite each other and Josie handed them the food menu and the drinks menu. “I’ll just give you a moment to decide what you want to drink and then I’ll be back to take your orders.”

She didn’t even bother introducing herself as she turned on her heel and stalked off to deal with another couple that had just arrived. More staff started filtering out towards the front of house as other diners started to arrive.

Castiel looked down at the drinks menu and then up at Dean. He was biting his bottom lip and worrying it between his teeth while he looked at his own copy of the drinks menu. Reaching out across the table, Castiel caught Dean’s right hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Castiel reassured. “What’s good?” he asked, eyes turning back to the menu.

Dean squeezed Castiel’s had back and took an audible deep breath. “To drink? You should definitely pick out one of their craft beers. They change them all the time, so I can’t tell you what’s good. But I’ve never had anything that tastes like motor oil.”

“Good to know. Okay, I’ll have the Brassneck Brewery’s No Brainer...”

“Is that that Canadian Kellerbier?”

Castiel chuckled. “Glad you can say that. And yeah, it is.”

“Mmm does sound good, but so does this Kölsch, the St. James Pale Ale...” Dean said, “Kölsch” rolling off his tongue with an ease that only someone who’d studied German might be able to achieve.

“Do you speak German?” Castiel asked, head tilted to the side as he gave Dean a considered look.

A blush bloomed across Dean’s cheeks and he bowed his head a little. “Just a few words.”

_It’s more than a few words_ , Castiel decided. He doubted Dean had much need to talk about beer in depth. “Just a few words?”

Dean awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “I can read _Harry Potter_ in German.”

_Bingo,_ Castiel thought and then found the idea of Dean reading any of the Harry Potter novels, in any language, endearingly cute. But Dean almost seemed embarrassed about having this linguistic skill. Castiel decided that Dean needed to be less embarrassed about this, he just needed to find an effective way of telling Dean he was good and brainy.

“Can I take your drink orders?” Josie suddenly asked, standing beside the table, and making Dean and Castiel both jump in their seats.

“Yeah, I’ll have the St. James Pale Ale, please,” Dean said and looked to Castiel.

“I’d like the No Brainer,” Castiel said, withholding the “please” that he would normally add.

Nodding, Josie wrote down their orders and scuttled off to fill them. Hope settled in Castiel, as he wished that the food and drink of this outing would go to plan. Looking back over to Dean he smiled and bumped Dean’s foot with his own, eliciting a drawn out breath from Dean. He was still on edge and just barely holding it together. It was beautiful, Dean was beautiful.

“So,” Castiel started, rubbing the top of his right foot against the inside of Dean’s left leg, “what’s the new job like?”

“It’s… different. Even though I’ve only been there a few days, I already feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. There’s a lot for me to do, but I’m just not under the same sort of constant scrutiny I was at Sandover.” Dean sighed. “It’s good.”

Pumps purposefully slapping against the floor heralded the return of Josie. She put their drinks down, seeming to remember whose was whose. “I’ll give you a bit more time to decide what to order,” she said and stalked off again.

Opening their food menus, Castiel glanced down at the appetizers and blanched at the price. He might own his own business, but he wasn’t exactly rolling in it and his accountant would probably have a heart attack if he saw what he was looking at.

“Hey,” Dean said softly.

Castiel looked up from the menu.

“Don’t worry, my treat.” Dean smiled and Castiel wanted to reach across the table, maybe tongue Dean a bit and then sit back again.

“Thank you, Dean...” Castiel looked back at the menu. “I think… I think I want the baked camembert fondue to start. And then the...”

“Their ribeye’s _really_ good,” Dean suggested.

At 14oz he was unsure if he’d be able to finish it, but as Dean was paying _and_ recommended it… “Okay, I’ll have the ribeye. What about you?”

“Not sure about the fondue… Maybe oysters.”

“Do you really trust their oysters? How fresh are they really going to be?”

“Good point. Okay, I haven’t tried the fondue before, I’ll have that too and the ribeye. Fries?”

“Fries.”

“Steak medium-rare?”

Castiel nodded. He couldn’t explain why he did, but Castiel liked that they were having the same food.

Putting the menus aside, they both picked up their drinks. Castiel took a sip of his beer and enjoyed the nutty rush of flavor over his tongue. He caught Dean, out of the corner of his eye, smiling into his drink. It was adorable and Castiel looked forward to later and what they might do together.

As if summoned from the ether, Josie appeared at their table again. “So, what’ll it be?” she asked, in a voice Castiel was certain she wouldn’t dare use with any of her other customers. It wasn’t angry, but there was a disapproving undercurrent to it.

Dean cleared his throat, shoulders flexing under his gray v-neck shirt, making Castiel wonder quite what Dean would look like topless and flexing under him. Heat rushed south and Castiel, let out a long breath, calming himself.

“Okay, can we both have the camembert baked fondue to start and then the ribeye, medium-rare. Fries too,” Dean asked calmly.

“Sure thing. Anything else?”

“Not for now, thanks,” Castiel said, no smile or lift in his voice.

Josie finished writing their orders down and grabbed the menus, rushing off without another word. Shaking his head, Castiel turned back to Dean and quirked his head in the direction that Josie had disappeared again.

Dean rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, I… I hate it when people get like that.”

An idea crept into Castiel’s head. While it would mean delaying something he craved, it would mean winding Dean up just that touch more. “After we eat, I’m gonna take you somewhere.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“And nope, not gonna tell you where. You can park your car at mine, and then I am taking you out.” Castiel sipped his beer.

“I thought we were already out?”

Castiel winked at Dean and lowered his glass. “Oh, but you’re forgetting the after party.”

Dean’s foot fidgeted against Castiel’s. He was so wound up—Castiel was looking forward to their next stop. “So,” Castiel broke the silence, “who is Dean Smith?”

Cheeks reddening, Dean took another sip of beer. “Dean Smith… he comes from a nuclear family, has a Dad called Bobby and a Mom called Ellen—they’re still together—and this terror of a little sister called Jo. He went to Stanford, full ride, and had a crazy GPA… and went to grad school at Harvard to get his MBA. He kissed a guy for the first time at Kirsty Alan’s post-mid-term party and had a threesome with that guy and Kirsty the same night.”

“You just spoke about yourself in the third person.”

Blush deepening, Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not used to talking about myself. Normally people just ask me about my work, and that’s all they want to know, and I’ll be as immodest as fuck... And I haven’t been with a guy since I started at Sandover… and… and… fuck I’m just… Taking this job with Sam’s company is my chance to do things my way.”

Dean looked up to Castiel’s eyes and Castiel swallowed at the pain there. This was a man who had molded his entire life around fitting to the expectations of others— _how else do you explain a full ride, high GPA and fucking grad school?_ —and Castiel suddenly realized that he had joined Dean at the start of something big in his life. The tattoo had only been the beginning.

He reached across the table and squeezed Dean’s left hand in his right. “Hey.” Castiel leaned over the table and kissed Dean, lips gentle as they caressed. Pulling away, Castiel took in the freckles on Dean’s face and the man’s long lashes. Dean was practically vibrating on his seat. He was gorgeous, and Castiel promised silently that he would give Dean the release he so clearly deserved.

But not until he’d had a bit more fun first.

Waiting for their food, they lapsed into a conversation about sports—Dean watched football, though not religiously. Castiel pointed out he hated watching sports, but liked to participate in anything other than football. Castiel learned that Dean enjoyed watching _Project Runway_ , which he had not expected. Castiel teased Dean for that bit of information.

“Oh, but you really should watch _Dr. Sexy M.D._ with me some time. I bet you’d like it,” Castiel suggested.

Dean grinned at that suggestion and then asked, “Who’s Castiel Shurley?”

“He’s a tattooist who went to art school in LA. Hates football. Moved back to Columbus, because of family… I told you most of this when you were getting your tattoo.”

“You didn’t tell me you were kinky.”

“You didn’t tell me _you_ were kinky,” Castiel pointed out, just as he saw their appetizers arriving.

Josie served them with hardly a smile— _maybe she saw us kiss—_ and Castiel ignored her unconcealed distaste, instead deciding to be ridiculous once she disappeared again. He fed Dean some of his fondue. It was messy as it dripped off the bread it was served with, but Castiel liked the way Dean had to whip out his tongue to catch the melted cheese and stop it running over his chin. The baked fondue was pretty tasty.

The ribeye ended up being as good as Dean said, perhaps even better. After one bite, Castiel insisted on cutting Dean’s steak up for him and feeding it to him piece by piece. Dean’s pupils looked about ready to swallow Castiel up when he offered to feed Dean his steak and some of his fries. And yeah, Castiel was pretty sure that Dean showed a side to himself that he might not have really explored until then.

Piece by piece, they ate until they were full. Dean got the check, as promised, and then they headed back to Dean’s awful car. Dean put the radio on NPR and Castiel wasn’t surprised, though he wondered why Dean didn’t ask for it when he was having his tattoo done. The show that was on was the antithesis to Castiel’s plans for the rest of the night.

An episode of _Embedded_ played over the car’s speakers, talking about the very serious issue of school closures. Castiel listened with half an ear, though decided he’d check out the episode at work later the following week.

***

“Where are we going?” Dean asked again as Castiel led him further and further away from his apartment.

“It would spoil the surprise,” Castiel explained as he walked slightly ahead of Dean. There were fewer cars now, and they’d probably need an Uber or Lyft to get back to his apartment later.

Once they were finally on the right street, Castiel could already feel the low level pulse of the club’s music. It called to him through the sidewalk, demanding that he come pay tribute, and that was what he planned on doing. Dean was his sacrifice along with his own body and spirit.

Dancing neon blue lights filtered out across the sidewalk and Dean stopped in his tracks. It took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean had stopped. He came to a halt and turned to look at Dean. “Dean?”

“A gay bar? You’re taking me to a gay bar?” Dean didn’t sound angry, more surprised than anything else.

A grin spread across Castiel’s face. “Welcome, Dean Smith, to the one and only Edlund’s. Where the drinks are cheap, the men are pretty and music is infinitely sweet.” He turned on his heel and continued walking to the bar.

Dean was at his side within a heartbeat. “I haven’t been to a… since grad school.”

“Then tonight is going to be a real treat. C’mon.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s right hand in his left and pulled into the bar, letting them be swallowed by the dusky tones of a Goldfrapp’s “Systemagic”. Sure it wasn’t Castiel’s usual jam, but he was flexible.

Heading to the bar, Castiel ordered two Purple Nurples—he had never quite figured out what was in them—and the two of them took their drinks over to a standing table. Dean took a sip of his drink, eyes going wide and bugging out a little. He put the glass down and looked to Castiel.

“Cas, what the hell is this?!” Dean shouted over the music.

“A Purple Nurple,” Castiel explained, voice raised. “Don’t worry, we’ll get something else after, but it’s an Edlund’s specialty… And speaking of specialties...”

Balthazar Edlund, owner of the bar, stalked towards Dean and Castiel. Castiel wasn’t sure what quite to expect, he had—up until that moment—forgotten that Balthazar might have a reason to be pissed off with him.

Fist flying at him, Castiel wasn’t fast enough to react to Balthazar’s punch, which caught him square on the jaw. Castiel went flying and Dean started shouting. Feet moved around him and people shouted as the music throbbed through every cell of his body. The lights pulsed with the pain in his jaw and Castiel tried desperately to remember what exactly Balthazar might want to punch him over, while at the same time trying to stop his vision from dancing in time with the music. Bringing coherent thoughts together was hard, as his head spun and throbbed. 

A hand was lowered towards him and Castiel managed to look up and see Balthazar standing over him. It was impossible to talk just then, so Castiel gave Balthazar a look.

“No, I’m not going to punch you again. You only deserved the one,” Balthazar shouted.

Deciding Balthazar was telling the truth, Castiel took the bar owner’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up, the world lurched more than normal.

“I’ll go get you some ice...” Balthazar offered.

And then Castiel remembered why he deserved, but not really, the punch. “I tried to stop you, y’know,” Castiel pointed out.

Balthazar threw his hands up. “Fine. I’ll tell the staff you don’t have to pay for any drinks tonight.” Before Castiel could reply, Balthazar turned on his heel and stormed off.

“You okay?!” Dean shouted, a hand landing on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel nodded and winced. “I will be soon. C’mon, let’s get another drink.”

Settled with ice and free drinks, Castiel made sure his body was plastered to the side of Dean’s as the two of them worked their way through some beers. Even with the ice, Castiel kept letting go of his beer so could switch hands and drag his icy cold hand up and down Dean’s back, under his shirt. Every time he did that, Dean would mouth “fuck” and push down against the seat.

Eventually, Dean said, “So you gonna tell me what that was about?” Dean tilted his head towards Balthazar, who was back beside the bar, talking with another member of staff.

Castiel laughed and sighed. “Oh, I refused to do a tattoo for him last month.”

“Why? Was he drunk?”

“No,” Castiel shouted over the music, “he wanted a couple’s tattoo, which I… have issues with most of the time anyway, I always try to make sure it’s not something that someone’s gonna regret if they split up from their partner. But also the tattoo was some random Chinese characters, which he said stood for ‘forever as one’.”

Castiel took a sip of beer and leaned closer to Dean. “Well, I also don’t do tattoos of languages I have no hope of personally understanding, in case I put something terrible on someone. Anyway, he went to some other parlor with fewer work ethics, got the same tattoo with his partner.”

“And?” Dean asked, breath on Castiel’s face.

“And he found out from his favorite Cantonese restaurant that the tattoo said ‘dumb white man’. Not long after, the partner became an ex and Balthazar stormed into my place, yelling it was all my fault.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“He’s a proud man, Dean. A proud man. Anyway, he obviously was still sore that I didn’t restrain him.” Castiel took a sip of his beer. “But he should have worked it out of his system by now.”

Dean looked thoughtful. He was so close and beautiful in the bar’s dancing lights. “What,” he finally began, “can he do about the tattoo?”

“Laser treatment might help fade it a bit, but he’d be better off coming in to mine so I can fix it into something more… appropriate. Not that he isn’t dumb, he just, you know, doesn’t deserve a tattoo saying he is.”

A chuckle worked its way out of Dean and Castiel still couldn’t believe how close this gorgeous man was. Jaw feeling numb, Castiel put the ice down, leaned in and kissed Dean on the side of his mouth.

Dean gasped and turned to Castiel. The next kiss was completely on the lips, mouths working open to each other. Swiping his tongue inside, Castiel teased Dean using his mouth, delighting in the way Dean whimpered and moaned into his mouth—feeling it over the music beat.

He didn’t care if anyone was watching them. Castiel climbed up on Dean’s lap and continued kissing him. Mouth hot and eager, Castiel sucked on Dean’s bottom lip, flicking his tongue into Dean’s mouth and exploring. The sour hint of the purple nurple was there along with everything else Dean had eaten and drunk that evening. And as if he couldn’t resist, Castiel ground down on Dean’s lap and relished the hard prod he got from Dean’s responding dick.

Pulling off of Dean’s mouth, Castiel leaned in towards Dean’s right ear and said, “When did you last come?”

Dean turned to Castiel’s ear and panted, “Sunday. Sunday morning.”

“You’ve been such a good boy for me this week, Dean,” Castiel growled into Dean’s ear. “Even with everything happening in your life.” Castiel licked Dean’s earlobe and then sucked it into his mouth. He swished his tongue against Dean’s ear a few times, hips grinding down.

Castiel could imagine the way Dean’s underwear must have slowly been growing damp with every lick of his tongue and roll of his hips. The man was practically vibrating under him.

He pulled back from Dean. Castiel slid off Dean’s lap and finished his beer, motioning for Dean to the same. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

Castiel held out his hand to Dean. Quickly finishing his bottle of beer, Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor. Stepping into the sea swaying bodies, Castiel grinned as “Word Up” started to play over the speakers.

Lyrics and bass rumbling right through him, Castiel turned his back to Dean, stepped back into him. And then Castiel bent over and rubbed his ass over Dean’s trapped erection, chuckling at the way Dean slid a hand down Castiel’s back as he bent forward. It was dirty, and hot—Castiel could feel sweat dripping down the back of his black top.

It felt like there was no one else there and then, it was just the two of them, the music and the flashing lights. Castiel felt in control as he worked Dean up, taking no prisoners with the way his body gyrated against Dean’s. He turned and slung his arms around Dean’s neck, free and happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

It didn’t matter how their evening had started out, Dean was here, hands on Castiel, touching in ways that asked if he could do more. Castiel nodded and Dean dug his fingers into Castiel’s hips, bringing them close enough to kiss. Music forgotten, their mouths met and Dean opened to Castiel, begging for contact. So Castiel swirled their tongues together, wet and hot, flicking and dragging his tongue—moves that he hoped to repeat on Dean’s cock in the near future.

Not wanting to become a cliché as Word Up finally started to wind down, Castiel decided that even if there were free drinks to be had, he finally wanted to reward Dean for being such a good boy. Heading out of Edlund’s, Castiel led Dean back the way they had come.

They stopped three times to kiss and then finally reached Castiel’s apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s not much,” Castiel muttered as he opened the door to his loft apartment. Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He’d always imagined most artistic types to be messy—socks in places they had no right to be, clutter and dirty dishes side by side—with projects scattered about the place.

Instead Dean saw a space that was clean and sparse. There was an empty easel in one corner, supplies tidied away beside it. Cas had a spotless kitchen area in the open plan space, and a neatly made bed on the opposite side. The only other non-closet door Dean could see must have led to a bathroom.

Elegantly simple. It was nice.

“I like it,” Dean stated. Castiel smiled, licked his lips and then gently took Dean by the hand. The contact made Dean’s heart rate pick up. Made him ache in ways he hadn’t felt for a long time, was unsure he’d feel again. That was until he met Cas.

Cas led Dean to his bed, and maneuvered them so that Cas sat on the end of the bed and Dean stood in front of him. The tattooist raked his eyes over Dean and gave him a hungry look.

“Strip.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He toed off his shoes and slid his shirt and pants off with slow, deliberate movements. He enjoyed the way that Castiel’s eyes never strayed from him. When he finally slid his underwear off, Dean stood in front of Cas, arms folded behind his back, because he didn’t know what to do with them.

Exposed, Dean stayed still as Cas studied him. Finally, after a few minutes of total silence, the bed creaked as Cas stood up and stepped over to Dean. Cas reached out his right hand and gently stroked the tips of his fingers down Dean’s left pec and then down the rest of his chest. Teasing and promising.

Blood rushed south and Dean tried to ignore the way his cock was responding to being touched by Cas. Castiel’s hand drifted lower and lower, dancing over his stomach muscles, which flexed automatically. Finally Castiel’s hand reached the trimmed nest of pubes above Dean’s dick. Castiel’s long fingers dipped past the hair and then stroked gently along Dean’s hard length.

The breath caught in Dean’s chest, but he didn’t whimper, didn’t move. Just stayed perfectly still as a still fully clothed Cas playfully splayed his fingers over Dean’s aching cock.

Okay, Dean would be the first to admit that the past seven days had been pretty wild by usual Dean Smith standards. His first tattoo. Quitting his very successful job. Allowing himself to be edged by Cas—who had been a complete stranger not all that long ago—for four days. Yeah, it had been wild.

And Dead didn’t want it to end. He was still the same old Dean Smith who tried to make sure he treated his body right—worked out an hour each day, ate and drink mostly the right things—and drove a Prius. (Though he was warming to Cas’s idea of trading the damn Prius in for something more… not him.) But he was starting to see how much he had not been living his life, and that had been without Castiel’s influence.

Though the influence Cas had over his dick was something that Dean wanted to indulge in. The last four days had left Dean with a heightened awareness of his body, in ways a cleanse had never managed. Just slipping into a clean shirt before heading into WeT had left Dean pleasantly aching. Leaving work early that Friday and heading home to make himself ready for Cas? Pure torture and not because he hated cleaning himself out. No, it had been the opposite and he’d had to ignore his dick the entire time.

Dean had been determined to be a good boy for Cas. And now he was being rewarded.

“You haven’t come once since Monday night, have you?” Cas whispered in Dean’s ear as he leaned in closer.

Dean let out a long breath. “Not once.”

Castiel’s fist closed around the head of Dean’s dick. “I’m pretty sure I could tell if you were lying. And I’m impressed, Dean Smith, that you’ve managed to last. Such self control.” Cas pulled down on Dean’s dick. “It’s rare, you know, to find anyone so disciplined.”

Cas shifted around Dean and brought their mouths together. The kiss was deep and warm, making Dean’s toes curl against the hardwood floor. Cas’s tongue demanded entrance and so Dean opened up to him. Rough flicks and swipes, but despite how aggressive Castiel’s mouth was, he didn’t shove Dean’s body.

Cas had praised Dean’s self-control, but Cas was definitely no slouch in that department either. Cas stepped a little closer and Dean felt how affected Cas was, clothed cock pressing against Dean’s hip.

The slow work of Castiel’s fist made Dean feel almost like he wasn’t there, like the attention was happening to someone else. He’d been standing on the precipice of pleasure for so long that Dean couldn’t react to the contact like he might once have done. If this had been any of the questing fumbles of his college days, Dean would have been fucking someone’s mouth or ass by now. But this was Cas and this was—

“I,” Cas said as he broke their kiss, “want you to get on the bed. All fours, ass in the air. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied. And where had that come from? _Don’t think about what’s happening next_ , Dean told himself, _or you’re not gonna make it_.

Dean did as he was told and climbed up on the bed, staying on all fours with his ass in the air. He heard a zipper open and clothes drop to the floor. Then Dean caught sight of Castiel’s naked ass walking to a bedside table near his head. He watched with interest as Cas fetched things from the table. Cas headed back behind Dean and finally climbed onto the bed.

“Dean,” Cas said, hand stroking down Dean’s flank to the swell of his muscled ass, “you’re not to come until I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

A lid popped open and Dean waited. Cool slicked finger reached up to his asshole and teased Dean.

“And you are to express how this feels,” Cas added as the tip of his finger eased its way into Dean’s ass.

“Yesssssss,” Dean moaned low, “siiiiiiiir.”

Castiel’s finger sunk deeper and deeper, burning a little, but not significantly. It had been some time since Dean had done this for himself. There had definitely been a decrease in the amount of time Dean had been spending on himself to make himself feel good. Not good like a cleanse made him feel, but _good_.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean grunted as Castiel’s finger brushed his prostate.

“You look so good, Dean. Feel good too. Wonder what my dick will feel like.” Cas skillfully curved his finger again, making Dean moan.

Body begging for more, Dean was relieved when Cas added a second lubed finger. But Cas didn’t rush them, he was considerate and careful, demanding, but not thoughtless. Sweat drops beaded Dean’s back, while pre-come dripped from his cock as it throbbed between his legs. Cas didn’t touch Dean’s cock while he opened him up, and Dean was glad, because he was pretty sure he would have just come without Castiel’s cock inside him—he was so tightly wound.

“Cas,” Dean begged, even though it was pointless, “c’mon.”

Cas swatted Dean’s ass with his free hand, making Dean stagger on his arms and legs. The sudden shift backwards had Castiel’s fingers pressing his prostate again. “You’ll be patient, Dean. Or I will leave you like this.”

There was no way Dean could cope with not coming again after being fingered by Cas, so he settled and just let his body enjoy what it did have. Which was pretty fucking fantastic—Castiel’s long fingers were just right.

Stretching him a little further with a third finger, Dean panted as Cas finished prepping him. The sudden lack of pressure inside him was a small relief but also unsettling. It felt wrong to be empty already and he could feel his hole clenching at air.

“Dean, kneel.” Castiel ordered.

Doing as he was told, Dean got on his knees and waited. He listened to a wrapper being opened and Cas hissing out a breath. The bed dipped a little and then Cas was laying down on his back beside Dean. Cas popped open some lube, dripped it over his condom covered cock, slicking himself up with his free hand.

“Do you want to ride me, Dean?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then ride me.”

Body shaking a little with anticipation, Dean climbed up and over Castiel’s thighs, settling a leg on either side of Cas. Reaching down behind himself, Dean held Castiel’s cock still as he gently eased himself down Castiel’s length. If it had been a long time since he’d fingered himself, it was even longer since Dean had had a dick up his ass.

Slowly the burning pressure of having Cas inside of him was replaced by the intense delight of being filled by the other man. Dean reached bottom and took a series of calming breaths.

Cas reached up to him, rubbing his hands over Dean’s thighs. “Go on, Dean. Giddy up.”

Thighs contracting, Dean raised himself up and then lowered himself back down. “Ohhhhhhh,” Dean hissed out. Body remembering what this was all about, Dean leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of Castiel’s head.

And then Dean was fucking himself on Castiel’s cock, panting and swearing while Castiel’s busy hands stroked and teased, fingers raising Dean’s nipples to painful nubs. All Dean could smell was Cas as he fucked himself, hips starting to shake the longer he went on. Pulling up from Cas, Dean knelt back on his haunches and then settled again into a new rhythm and—

“Oh, fuck!” Dean cried, getting his own prostate. He kept bouncing up and down, not caring how he looked as he pleasured himself. Cas was practically vibrating under him, hands getting more and more desperate as Dean sped up.

Cas reached up and wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock, jerking him off in time with his thighs. “Dean, come for me. Come. Dean.”

“FUCK!” Dean bellowed, stomach quivering, as he shot rope after rope of come over Castiel’s hand and both of their stomachs. It just didn’t seem to stop as Dean continued to fuck himself.

“Beautiful, Dean… _Beautiful!_ ” Cas gasped, and he shuddered under Dean, eyes rolling back as his own orgasm hit.

Thighs finally stuttering to a stop, Dean slid off of Castiel’s cock and shivered, hole oversensitive. He collapsed onto the sheets and worked on catching his breath. A few minutes later, Castiel finally pulled off the condom and chucked it in the trash.

Too tired to do much else, Dean nuzzled Castiel’s chest, fingers tracing the tattoos on Cas’s arms, as sleep quickly found him.

***

Friday night gave way to early Saturday morning. Dean woke up first, disentangling himself from Cas, and went through the door he guessed was the bathroom. Relieved it wasn’t a closet, Dean pissed and tried to ignore how fucked his ass still felt.

When he got back to Castiel’s bed, Cas was looking up at him with a dopey smile. “Mor—ning,” he yawned, eyes raking over Dean’s body.

Castiel’s hair was all over the place and sexy as hell. “Morning,” Dean returned before climbing onto the bed and disappearing under the sheets.

“What do you want…” Cas yawned loudly, “for breakfast, Dean?”

“You,” Dean hummed, breathing over Castiel’s cock. Cas gasped as Dean licked him to hardness and then started to blow him.

Sucking on Castiel’s dick and having Cas come on his face again wasn’t really something with much nutritional value, so Dean agreed to be cooked an omelet for breakfast.

Sat at the breakfast counter in a borrowed Iron Maiden t-shirt (Dean couldn’t find his own and wondered if Cas had somehow hid it) and his boxers from the day before, Dean liked the view of Castiel’s ass that he had. Cas had slipped into some red gym shorts and a white t-shirt that was maybe a little too short. The shirt kept riding up, and if Cas bent over just a little, Dean could see the curves of Cas’s cheeks.

“Got any plans for today?” Cas asked casually, pouring beaten egg into a pan.

Dean pushed at the fork Cas had put down in front of him. “Not really. Though Sam did suggest that I try to grab some more clothes that are… more Wesson Tech than Sandover.”

“What’s the dress code?”

“Smart casual with a whole side of casual. Like no one wears a tie. It’s weird. Even at my old bar job I had in college, I had to wear a tie.” Dean stroked a finger down the steel of the fork.

“You used to work in a bar?” Cas gave Dean a quizzical look, before turning back to the omelet.

“Hey, don’t act so surprised. Full ride didn’t keep me in food money and crap.”

“What kind of bar?” Cas asked casually. “One of the campus ones?”

A blush crept up Dean’s cheeks. “No… I served drinks at a nearby country club.”

Cas chuckled and plated the omelet. “So that’s how you were used to dealing with those Sandover assholes.”

It was Dean’s turn to chuckle. “Well, yeah, it was definitely a crash course in dealing with inflated egos.”

“And some tech start-up doesn’t have them?” Cas asked, bringing Dean his omelet. He headed back to the stove.

“Thanks… Uh, not really. Sam’s a pretty humble guy. Not some rich MIT grad with a trust fund, or even loads of connections. He’s just really good with code. And charming as hell.” Dean picked up his fork. “Even though he spent hours around computers every day at Sandover, he was teaching himself coding in his downtime.”

Cas added more eggs to the pan and started cooking his omelet. “You sound like you admire him.”

_Oh, I admire his persistence._ “He’s a big dork and doesn’t know when to put a bone down. He put up with me and my bitching about my far higher paid job, in comparison to his tech support one, for years—and then offered me a job at his company.

“He’s good people. Probably the closest I have to family these days too. Mom and Dad are in Sioux Falls… I don’t see them as often as I’d like. Miss my sister.”

“Maybe working for Sam means you’ll get more time to see them now?”

Dean hadn’t thought of that. He smiled. “Good point.”

The sound of sizzling egg filled the room. Cas stretched his neck as he kept an eye on his omelet. “Tell you what. I got some bookings at the parlor today. But why don’t you buy a load of new work clothes… and come model them for me at Angel Ink once you’re all shopped out?”

That was the cutest thing that anyone had ever asked Dean to do. The most coupley thing as well. Heart skipping a beat, Dean replied, “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

***

Shelves of jeans surrounded Dean. The store assistant who’d attached himself to Dean when he walked in was watching his every move as he looked through the different shades of denim. The colors shifted from near faded stone wash blue to midnight black. And that was without even considering the cut. Dean had never been much of a jeans man before, even back home, because anything other than slacks made his Dad’s customers question the trustworthiness of Smith Auto as purveyors of fine automobiles.

Dean had headed home for a quick change that morning and was out in another pair of teal slacks and a light blue, short sleeved shirt, and a pair of black Oxfords. Very much on the smart side of smart casual.

_But just how many cuts can jeans possibly have? What the hell are skinny jeans?_ Dean pondered the descriptions. He had seen Sam and many of the other WeT employees wearing jeans, but he had no idea what cut of jean Sam put his freakishly long legs in. Staring at the piles of denim, Dean started to think that choosing his last set of golf clubs had been an easier task.

“Ahem, may I help you, sir?” the store assistant finally asked.

Dean sighed and turned to face the— _Fuck, he’s a kid? What the hell would he know?—_ teenager. The light brown haired, pale green-eyed assistant stepped closer to Dean, plain blue t-shirt and black slacks making the kid look more like a customer than an employee. Only the badge set him apart.

“Uh, sure. Yes, you can help me.” Dean checked the kid’s badge, it said “Alfie”.

“So, what are you looking for?” Alfie asked.

Dean pursed his lips and thought. He was finding it hard to think of a way to describe the kind of clothes he needed. WeT was really like no corporation he’d even interviewed for before. Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “Like… smart casual, but heavy on the casual? It’s for the office.”

“Office?” Alfie looked at the shelves of folded jeans. “Where do you work?”

“Uh, just started at WeT. You...” Dean stopped speaking as Alfie started to nod. “What, you heard of it?”

Alfie shrugged. “They run an after school club at my high school. Couple of the guys from there teach code.”

_Huh?_ Dean hadn’t realized that Sam’s business was doing things like that. He filed that information away for later, knowing he could definitely use it to help sell WeT’s services and products. Investors and customers alike would eat up that community angle.

“I take it you go?” Dean asked, reaching out towards a pair of black skinny jeans in his size.

“Yes—and those aren’t the jeans you’re looking for,” Alfie said with a smirk. _And oh yeah, the kid just New Hoped me_.

Dean’s hand fell to his side. “Okay, then what jeans do you think I should be wearing around the office?”

“You look like the kind of guy who’s gonna wear boots around the office, so I’d say bootcut.” Alfie reached up for a pair of medium-blue jeans.

Dean took the jeans from Alfie and shook them out so he could take in the cut. Okay, he still had no idea what they would look like on him.

“Hey, why don’t we grab a few more pairs, and some boots, and you can try them on in the changing rooms.” Alfie started pulling other pairs from the shelves. “And maybe we could find some tops to go with these as well.”

Another staff member walked towards them. The other kid reached Alfie and they exchanged a few hushed words. The kid nodded and took up a spot near where Alfie had been earlier.

“C’mon, let’s get you ready for work.” Alfie winked at Dean.

***

Armed with bags and boxes, Dean used his ass to push open the front door to Angel Ink. He could hear music playing from both studios, so Dean set down his haul and sat on the couch out front. He was about to pull out his cellphone and continue his play on _Monument Valley_ , but then he saw a pile of magazines on a coffee table he’d not even noticed on his first visit. He picked the top one up. It was the April issue of _Esquire_ , which Dean thought was a little unusual for a tattoo parlor, but if there was anything he’d learned about Cas, it was that he shouldn’t make assumptions. There were some tattoo magazines under the issue of Esquire, but after recently putting some balm on his tattoo and having it flake off onto his finger, Dean wasn’t so sure he felt like looking at tattoos. So Esquire it was.

Chris Evans was on the front, hair slicked back, beard on his face and arms above his head. He had a gray t-shirt on and the sleeves really showed off the actor’s biceps. Dean swallowed as he took in the sight, suddenly feeling a little warmer in the air conditioning-cooled space.

Stroking his own chin, Dean wondered if maybe he should grow a beard. Sandover culture had looked down on bearded guys, but Dean didn’t have to deal with that now. Plus, a few guys at WeT had beards. _Can I even grow one?_ Dean pondered, still rubbing his cheeks. He’d never had more than a day’s growth on his face, not even as a teenager when shaving had become a thing for him. His Dad was clean-shaven, so he was too.

Dean flicked open the magazine and flipped past some advertisements, peeking at a few out of professional curiosity, before finding the contents page. He found where Evans’ interview started and flipped past more pages until he had the interview open in front of him. A part of him wished he’d seen the Marvel films he knew Evans was in, but Dean rarely had time for theater trips or movie nights at home. Maybe that would change.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped when he read of the interviewer’s predicament at the start. _Skydiving for an interview? How the hell did Evans’ agents agree to that?_ Chuckling some more, Dean read on with a pleasant sense of schadenfreude as he imagined this poor interviewer and Evans some 12,500 feet in the air.

Then the interview moved onto more serious subjects and Dean stopped laughing. Though he made a face when the interview mentioned that Evans smoked. Dean couldn’t imagine doing something like that to himself. _But maybe I should grow a beard..._

“Something interesting?” Cas asked from beside Dean’s elbow. And when did he sit down next to him?

Dean turned to Cas and smiled. “Interview with Chris Evans.”

“You watched _Captain America_?” Cas took the magazine from Dean’s hands and started scanning the article.

“No, actually.”

Cas looked up at him and narrowed his eyes at Dean. “We need to change that. Preferably tonight… So, you got some new threads?”

“Yeah.” Dean waved a hand at his haul and Cas quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Did you buy half the store?”

Blushing, Dean stood and started picking up bags and boxes. “Uh, got somewhere I can change?”

Cas grinned and led the way to a door that was partially hidden behind the front desk. They walked into an office that had another two doors leading off from it. There was a desk with a computer on it in there, shelves with a few tattoo supplies, and a filing cabinet. No windows.

“You can use my office. The restroom is through there,” Cas pointed to one door, “and the storeroom is there,” Cas pointed to a different door with a lock on it and a keypad, “but obviously you won’t need to go in there.”

Walking over to the desk, Cas leaned against it and crossed his arms, expectantly.

Sure Cas might want to watch him strip, but that would ruin the impact of his new outfits. Dean huffed and crossed his arms. “Uh, no. You said I’d be modeling for you. Not watching while I change. You can wait out there.” Dean pointed to the front waiting area.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Cas whined. It was kind of adorable to watch him sulkily head out the door.

“You should check out that Chris Evans interview I was reading. It’s pretty good.”

Cas looked up the ceiling for a second and then nodded. “I think I will… Your catwalk awaits.” Cas raked his eyes over Dean and strutted out.

_If we watch Captain America later, am I really gonna see much of Captain America? Let’s be realistic, Smith, you probably won’t. But hey, at least you’ll have tried_. Dean shook his head, smiling to himself, and started assembling one of the outfits Alfie had pulled together for him.

Dean took off everything bar his boxers and socks, and then slipped into a black t-shirt, blue plaid shirt and a pair of blue stone wash bootcut jeans. Then he dug out a pair of black boots that Alfie had helped him pick out. Dressed in his first outfit, Dean took a deep breath and then opened the door to the waiting room.

Immediately dropping the copy of Esquire that Dean had been reading, Cas stared up at Dean from the couch. Lip stuck between his teeth, Castiel’s gaze was long and thoughtful. The tattooist gulped a little and nodded, cheeks reddening a little.

Dean let out a long breath, trying not to show how much seeing the effect he was having on Cas was affecting him. “What do you think?”

“It suits you. Really does,” Cas said in a hoarse voice, like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“I got a couple more shirts to try with this combo...” Dean’s voice trailed off.

“My next appointment isn’t for another hour.” Cas stood up and walked towards Dean with a hungry look in his eyes. Music continued to throb from Harry’s studio.

“Cas?” Dean asked in a mock concerned voice. Cas got in his space and nuzzled against Dean’s neck.

“Mr Smith… you look good enough to eat,” Cas whispered and licked Dean’s neck before backing him into the office.

Before Dean could say anything else, Cas had unbuttoned his flies and slipped the new jeans down to Dean’s ankles. The office door snapped shut and Cas pulled Dean’s chubbing dick out of his boxers. Cas leaned in and ran his tongue along Dean’s length before leaning in closer and sucking him down.

“Christ, Cas!” Dean fisted his hands into Castiel’s curling dark hair and tried not to thrust.

The perfect warm heat of Castiel’s mouth made Dean’s balls ache as Cas took up an impressive pace. Taking Dean all the way to the hilt on each pass, deep throating him, Dean panted and whined.

Pleasure sparked through Dean’s body, and he could not hold out if Cas kept this up. “Fuck! Cas… I need to… Can I come? Please? Lemme come.”

Cas looked up at Dean and met his gaze then pulled off. “Come for me, Dean.” Cas grabbed Dean’s dick and held it towards his own face, closing his eyes.

And Dean wasn’t about to deny Cas what he so clearly wanted, and without further stimulation started to spurt hotly over Castiel’s cheeks, nose and lips. “Fuck, Cas, fuck! So fucking good to me. Thank you… Cas… Thank you!”

Cas got to his feet and got close to Dean’s mouth. “You’re welcome. Now clean up your mess.”

Without another word, Dean hungrily drove in and started licking his come off Castiel’s face. It was so dirty, but Dean loved it. Loved what Cas did to him. Once Dean was done, Cas pulled him into his arms and bit at Dean’s neck, rubbing his clothed hard-on against Dean’s thigh. But Cas didn’t come.

No, not then. Cas just bit and sucked until Dean had a mighty hickey on the side of his neck. Everyone at the office on Monday was going to know that Dean had gotten lucky that weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

“We cuddled,” Castiel replied. He continued doodling vague sketches into his latest sketchbook, while sat on the couch out front. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to doodle, to just draw and see where it took him. His first weekend with Dean had been a good weekend. A really good weekend and they’d talked, watched films (including Captain America), eaten take-out and had mind blowing sex. Even talked about whether Dean would consider wearing a cock cage.

Big, serious, and fun stuff had filled his weekend, and Castiel had come into work on Monday feeling like he could take on the fucking world. He hadn’t realized just how routine his life had become until he had someone stepping into it and joining him for the ride for a few days.

“And cuddling means?” Harry asked, half-interested in the website he was scrolling through while looking for some new supplies.

Castiel sighed. He didn’t want to sound like some sort of lovestruck teenager, and he was acutely aware that was where the conversation was heading. _Yeah, lovestruck teenager who loves how fucking well his new boyfriend submits_. Not that he was going to go into detail with Harry about the D/s questions he’d been fielding from Dean, who hadn’t really known much of anything until this weekend.

But then Dean was also great at just fucking. Beautiful mouth. Gorgeous hole. Thick dick. Perfect ass. Taking a deep breath, Cas tried not to think about what it might be like to just mark up Dean’s ass with his hand. Spanking him as his cock dripped over Castiel’s— _you are sitting right beside Harry. Calm down, Shurley_.

As if seeming to remember that Harry had asked a question, Cas cleared his throat and said, “Dean was adamant that he wasn’t a cuddler? And what does he do during Captain America, about thirty minutes in?”

“I dunno, Castiel, what did Dean do about thirty minutes in?” Harry rolled his eyes, but Castiel ignored him.

“Dean snuggles up to me, purposely getting himself under my left arm. Nuzzles at my fucking chest and cuddles for the rest of the film.”

“Well holy fudge. That’s amazing, Castiel,” Harry shot back.

Cas downed his pencil and looked his colleague in the eye. “How come you get to talk about your girlfriends, when you have them, and I can’t talk about anyone I’m going out with, huh?”

“Uh, because I’m not an absolute sap about it, duh.” Harry typed something into the keyboard.

“I’m a sap?” Castiel asked in disbelief, on the verge of telling Harry every dirty thing he’d done with Dean since they’d met, including the office blow job.

The store door opened and Castiel got up from the couch, turning to greet the person. “Hey, can I help—”

“Are you Fergus MacLeod?” His voice was nasally and jagged. The guy who walked in had a mean look about his eyes and a closely cropped goatee. He was dressed in a suit and tie, but was making the hairs stand on the back of Castiel’s neck.

“No,” Castiel answered calmly.

The stranger licked his lips and shook his head. “How about you?” He looked to Harry.

“No MacLeods here, sir.” Harry’s hand had disappeared under the desk. Castiel looked between the stranger and Harry, Harry’s eyes were focusing on something on the other side of the guy, in his right hand, that Castiel couldn’t see.

Ice filled Castiel’s stomach. _He’s got a gun. Fuck. He’s got a gun._

“It’s funny neither of you are Fergus MacLeod, because I know this is _his_ establishment. And that he is here every Monday.”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” Castiel said in a voice that was more calm than he was feeling. They’d never had any real trouble at the parlor before, not to the extent where Castiel wasn’t sure he was getting out of the situation alive.

“You’re Fergus,” the stranger decided and finally pointed what was in his right hand at Castiel. It was a baseball bat, light tan wood hinting at Saturdays in the batting cage.

“I assure you I’m not. I have ID that says otherwise.”

“Could be fake.” The stranger’s eyes flicked to the open studio doors and without warning he rushed into Harry’s work space and started swinging his bat around.

Castiel and Harry dashed in after him to try and stop his senseless destruction. “ _What the hell?!_ ” Harry yelled, trying to get behind the guy, but he was too slow. The man shoved the butt of the bat into the side of Harry’s head, sending him down.

“HARRY!” Castiel shouted in alarm, scared his friend was dead.

Then the man rounded on Castiel, eyes bloodshot and wild. “You’re next, Fergus.”

Castiel tried to run, he really did. He spun and headed for the front door so he could use his cell to call for help, or shout in the street. Flag down a passing police officer. Anything. He got to the door, the intruder’s shoes slapping against the tiles behind him, and tried to yank it open.

But the door wouldn’t budge. The latches for the door had been slid closed. Castiel fumbled the latch to try and open the door, hands shaking. The door flung open just as, with a sickening crack, the bat was swung against his back. Castiel went down, hitting the floor like a tonne of bricks, head smacking against the tiles and making everything turn to black.

***

“I need to see him, please. He’s—” a voice pleaded nearby. Castiel tried to find a name. The voice was familiar and made the hairs on his arms stand up. Castiel’s eyes flickered open and he could see a nurse standing in the doorway, blocking Dean from seeing him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but unless you’re family or—”

“Dean?” Castiel said hoarsely, throat aching with the effort. And the words suddenly made every part of his body feel like it was being crushed under a vise. A whimper escaped his throat and Castiel had to hold back tears.

The nurse turned to Castiel immediately and went over to him. Dean followed.

“Mr Shurley, you’re awake! I’ll go get the doctor.” The nurse turned and saw Dean. “You cannot be in here!”

“No, Dean stays,” Castiel insisted, the effort making pain flutter through his chest.

The nurse frowned, but didn’t say anything more. She shook her head and stalked out of the room.

Dean came to the right side of Castiel’s bed. “Fuck, Cas. I was so worried.”

“How’s Harry?” Castiel reached out with his right hand and grasped Dean’s left hand lightly. There was no strength in his grip, but it didn’t matter. He was glad that a friendly face had been waiting for him.

“He’s in for observations from what I heard from his mom. She said he had a little swelling on the brain, but it seemed to be coming down.”

“That’s… I need to see him, Dean,” Castiel pleaded.

“Maybe once you’re mobile?” Dean’s eyes looked down Castiel’s body then and Castiel followed Dean’s gaze, taking in the saline drip from his left arm and then lower.

His right leg was a large lump under the covers and he realized he couldn’t really feel his toes. He looked to Dean and his— _what, boyfriend, is that what he is now?—_ gave him a concerned look.

“I think the bastard broke your leg. But I don’t know, as no one’s really told me anything.” Dean ducked his head a little.

Castiel nodded, but decided not to focus on that news. “Has someone managed to contact my Dad?”

“Yeah, the police or the hospital have. I might have overheard the conversation...”

Castiel wanted to laugh at the way Dean was blushing as he made this admission, but his leg gave a painful throb. Instead, in a pained voice, he said, “What did you hear?”

“Your dad’s out in San Diego at the moment, at some kind of convention?”

Nodding and wincing, Castiel smiled. “Comic Con. He’s at Comic Con.”

Dean gave him a nonplussed look, but before Castiel could explain further a doctor came into his room with the nurse from earlier and Dean had to leave him, despite Castiel’s protests. But Dean reassured him he would be waiting just outside for when he was ready.

“Mister Shurley, or would you rather I call you Castiel?” the doctor, Doctor Lafitte, said in a pleasant southern drawl. He was a bear of a man, and had a warm reassuring smile and soulful blue eyes.

“Castiel’s… just fine.” Castiel grimaced.

“Well, Castiel, I’m sure the police are itching to talk to you, but you’re my number one priority, cher.” Doctor Lafitte leaned in, and flashed a light in Castiel’s eyes. “Well you don’t seem to have a concussion so that is good. So, you want the good news or the bad news first?” The doctor stowed his light.

It took a moment for Castiel to decide which he wanted first. Finally, he settled. “Bad first.”

“If you insist. You’ve fractured your right tibia. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, but we’ve had to use pins to help reset the bone. You’ve got a cast on to immobilize the site.” Doctor Lafitte bent over the end of Castiel’s bed and raised his sheets to uncover his right leg and show the white cast on his leg.

“So that’s the bad news… What’s the… good news?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to spend some time off your feet. But with the right physio and follow-ups, you’ll be healed up in time for Christmas.” Doctor Lafitte smiled.

“And there’s the good news.” Castiel sighed and relaxed against his pillows, trying not think about how this might affect his work. He had health insurance, and he’d made claims before with little issue, but he wasn’t so sure about his business insurance. He had no idea what that maniac had done to the place. What equipment was left in a usable state. God, he loved his tattoo machine— _if that asshole broke my gun…_

“Listen, I’ll let your friend come back in now. The police are waiting to talk to you, keep that in mind. Naomi, make sure Castiel gets some more Vicodin.” The doctor winked at Castiel and then left the room.

The nurse poured Castiel a cup of water and added a straw. She set it down beside him on the table with a small look of disdain, plus some pain pills, and then followed the doctor out of the room. A moment later, Dean walked in and offered him a huge grin.

“You alright dating a metal man?” Castiel asked, giving the pain pills a wary look.

Taking a seat beside Castiel, Dean followed his gaze. “This what we’re doing, huh, dating? You wanna be my boyfriend? I mean, your taste in music is questionable.”

“You asked for rock.”

“Yeah, but you listen to Sabbath, man.”

“You think a fridge should have kale in it.” Castiel pushed the pills away from himself and picked up his cup of water. He took a small sip. “I also do literally have a piece of metal in me right now.”

“Well, metal man...” Dean picked up the pills, got up from his seat and went to the bathroom door and went in. The next thing Castiel heard was the toilet being flushed. Faucet turning, Castiel waited for Dean to finish what he’d been saying. “Want me to get you some food?” Dean walked out of the bathroom and went back over to Castiel. He leaned down and kissed Castiel’s forehead.

“Yeah. Something greasy. No kale.”

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. “No kale.” He stood up and headed towards the room door. He stopped, turned to Castiel and added, “And I’ll help you write down your treatment preferences when I get back.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Castiel relaxed back against his pillows, wincing at the pain his leg was causing him.

With Dean gone, Castiel found himself incredibly grateful that Dean hadn’t asked questions about not wanting the pills. Not that Castiel had a serious issue, he just didn’t like the way pain pills messed with his head. He’d rather grimace his way through pain than be high, unable to string his thoughts together. It wasn’t like he ever drank to excess either.

He chuckled as he compared himself to the stereotypical image people had of those in his profession. He knew he wasn’t what people expected. Sure he had the tattoos and piercings, but he didn’t associate with biker gangs or drug dealers. Most tattooists didn’t, they were just business people, who other people liked to make assumptions about. The drug part was sometimes true, but in Castiel’s experience he didn’t care for much of it.

Still, Castiel had the feeling that whoever Fergus MacLeod was, the guy probably was the sort to associate with less than savory individuals.

***

“Look, Castiel, it makes sense for you to come stay with me for a while. I can drive you to the parlor and pick you up… You know it makes sense, son. There’s no way you’re gonna be able to handle those stairs up to your apartment.” Chuck Shurley gave Castiel a reassuring smile.

And sure his Dad was a nice enough guy, with his graying curly short hair and peppery beard, and his penchant for writing highly successful young adult novels. Plus his habit of wearing thick cardigans, regardless of the heat. Still, Chuck was the kind of dad who had boundary issues, and this was why Castiel had gone as far away for art school as he could. Chuck was lovely, but he was overprotective and disapproving of Castiel’s direction in life—because tattoos.

Being a successful business owner wasn’t good enough for Chuck. Having someone come into the parlor and beat his son senseless had just proven to Chuck that his son was working in a dangerous industry. Even though the police had been very clear that it had been a very unfortunate case of mistaken identity.

Castiel had other plans. “Look, I’m gonna stay with a friend. His building has an elevator. He’s got the space and… he lives on the same block as the parlor.”

“Friend?” Chuck raised an eyebrow.

_Okay, so I haven’t asked him yet, but, fuck, I can’t stay with Dad._ Castiel smiled and nodded. “Yeah, a friend.”

Chuck squinted at him and then pointed at Castiel, an accusing smirk on his face. “You have a new boyfriend.”

“He’s—”

“Really? You think moving in with someone this soon is a good idea? Why—”

“Dad, I’m not moving in! It’s just temporary, until I can cope with the stairs at my apartment again.”

There was a knock at the hospital room door.

“Come in,” Chuck and Castiel announced in unison.

Throwing a scowl at his dad, Castiel quickly changed it to a smile as Dean opened the door and walked into his room. “Hey, Cas, if this is a bad time, I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine, Dean.” Castiel looked at his dad. “Dad, can you get me a black coffee, please?”

“Are you sure you should be having caffeine in your condition?”

“Dad, I’ve broken my leg, I’m not pregnant. Black coffee, please.”

Chuck rolled his eyes and got up from his seat. He stalked off past Dean without a word.

Mouth open, like he was about to say something, Dean turned to Castiel, but Castiel cut him off. “Okay, look. My Dad is trying to get me to stay with him while I recover. I do not want this. We… do not want this.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, so I said I’m staying with a friend… well he guessed boyfriend. Not that I’ve told him you’re with me. And… fuck, Dean, can I please stay with you? I know it’s a lot to ask and we’ve only been going out like for a second, and it’s, shit… Yeah it is crazy. Fuck, forget it, I’ll stay with—”

“Hold up,” Dean interrupted. “You told your dad that you’d be staying with your boyfriend, rather than him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Castiel huffed out a breath. “Because my Dad is a man who doesn’t understand boundaries. Hates my job. And just doesn’t have a clue what privacy is. He’s why I went all the way to LA for art school.”

“But you came back to be close to family, you said so yourself.”

“My Mom, before she died.”

“Oh, shit, Cas, I’m sorry, I—“

Castiel shook his head. “Hey, it’s fine. Look, can I stay with you or not? You said your place has an elevator, and the parlor is on the same block. I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner, but I didn’t exactly expect my Dad to come back from Comic Con so early.”

Dean held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Uh, sure, you can stay until you get better.”

The words were music to Castiel’s ears, but he really felt bad for putting Dean on the spot. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I can help with rent.”

“No, you save your money to keep your place. Okay?”

Relief settling over him, Castiel nodded. “Okay. Fuck, thank you Dean.”

A smile crept up on Dean’s lips and he bent over Castiel. “No worries.” Dean closed the distance and kissed Castiel.

“Ahem, am I interrupting?” Chuck called from the doorway.

Opening his eyes as Dean jerked back, Castiel couldn’t miss the blush on Dean’s face. He smirked a little at Dean, but then stopped smiling as he noticed the appraising look on his dad’s face.

“This must be your boyfriend.” Chuck put the coffee cup on Castiel’s bedside table and held his hand out to Dean. “I’m Castiel’s father, Chuck Shurley and you are…?”

Dean grasped Chuck’s hand and shook it. “Dean Smith.”

“And what do you do for a living, Dean?” Chuck asked. He gave Dean a curious look and Castiel knew it was because his dad was wondering where all the tattoos were.

“I’m the director of sales and marketing at WeT—Wesson Technology.”

“You are, are you?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Just started there, but I was at Sandover in the same role before.”

“Sandover’s a respectable business, why’d you leave?” Chuck shot back. And Castiel felt anger curl in his belly—he didn’t want his dad to be giving Dean the third degree.

“A man’s allowed to move somewhere else to work, Dad,” Castiel said, voice raised.

“Nah, it’s okay, Cas… I left Sandover, because it just didn’t feel like a good fit any more. Simple as that. I wanted to work somewhere that valued its people. WeT fits that.” Dean stared at Chuck, gaze unflinching.

Letting out a long breath, Chuck nodded and backed off a little, moving to the foot of Castiel’s bed. “I thought Sandover was a good business to work for?”

Dean cleared his throat. “They are, if you like to see good people kicked to the curb, or don’t mind how they treat people’s private lives,” he said, looking between Chuck and Castiel.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Chuck gave Dean another appraising look. “I had heard they’re not… as supportive as other local employers, to say the least.”

“They really aren’t.”

“So you’re gay?” Chuck asked.

_Oh for Christ’s sake, Dad. What does it matter?_ Castiel was about to say something, but Dean beat him to it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m bisexual, actually. Castiel is my first serious relationship since college.” Dean crossed his arms.

No one said anything for a moment. Sparks flew between Dean and Chuck’s gazes. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time Chuck had been so openly hostile to someone he was dating, or annoyed at a part of his personal life. Not that Chuck knew much about the people he’d been with in college. His dad had spent plenty of times being pissed at him for different reasons, and Castiel was well aware that Chuck disliked many of the personal choices Castiel had made in his life, from people to art school.

Finally, seeming to decide that things had been settled, Chuck unfolded his arms and Dean followed suit. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Dean. I hope your elevator works.” Chuck checked his watch. “I need to take some calls. Text me Dean’s address once you’re discharged.”

Without further word, Chuck turned on his heel and stalked off. Castiel looked at the cup of coffee on his table and then Dean passed it over.

“That was a disaster.” Dean fell into the seat beside Castiel, slumping down in it.

Castiel took a sip of the bitter liquid. “Thanks. I appreciate you helping me out.”

Sighing, Dean nodded. “Are you really going to text him my address?”

Castiel shook his head. “He can meet me at the parlor if he needs to see me.”

“Oh good.”

Weary, Castiel put his coffee down and sunk back against his pillows. “I hope they get my discharge papers soon. I’m sick of these tiles.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling. “Don’t worry. I got chandeliers at mine.”

Castiel’s eyes bugged out at that.


	7. Chapter 7

“You weren’t lying. You really do have chandeliers,” Cas said, eyes glued to the ceiling of Dean’s apartment as he supported himself with metal crutches. The chandeliers weren’t anything quite to the scale you might find in a house on something like _Downton Abbey—_ not that Dean was ever going to admit to anyone that he watched that show and had boxsets of the first few seasons hiding in his closet—but they were crystal, one per room bar the bathroom.

“Told ya,” Dean smirked as he carried a bag of Castiel’s things. They’d stopped off at Castiel’s place before heading to his, though it had been Dean who went up—Cas had waited in the car. The duffel was heavy on his shoulder, but he’d lifted heavier at the gym.

Having already seen Castiel’s place and spent the night, Dean knew it was only fair that Cas got to check out where he hung his cape, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. He got that Cas didn’t exactly get on with his dad, but he was more than a bit unsure about having this guy he’d known less than a month suddenly staying in his apartment.

“This is a really nice apartment, Dean,” Cas announced in a slightly awed voice. Where Castiel’s place had little in it, Dean’s place was kitted out like somewhere from a home décor magazine. Still few personal effects out, but lots of clean lines, hard and soft surfaces in highly prescribed locations and furniture that matched. His hardwood floors gleamed in the light.

Dean stepped ahead of Cas. “Thanks, so,” he said as he approached a hallway that led to the bedrooms, “this is the guest bedroom.” Dean flipped on the light and showed Cas inside. “It’s got its own en-suite, so you won’t have far to go.”

The bed was a double rather than a queen like the bed in Dean’s room, but it was comfortable from what Sam had told Dean the few times he’d crashed there after a night out. Dean put Castiel’s bag down on the bed.

Castiel looked around the room, face slightly more reserved than it had been while admiring Dean’s lighting. _Shit, was he hoping to sleep in with me? I mean, it’s a little soon to suddenly start doing that, right? And what if I jostle his leg or something? Fuck. Uh—_

“It’s lovely. Thank you for agreeing to let me stay. I know I kind of dumped this on you… but seriously, my dad, he… yeah. It’s not a good mix.” Cas gave Dean a grateful smile.

“Don’t worry… uh, do you wanna head to the living room and I’ll see what I’ve got in my kitchen for dinner.” Dean gestured out of the room.

Turning on his crutches, Cas hobbled out of the room, swinging his right leg so he didn’t put any weight on it. Dean wondered if he had any Sharpies around, wanting to decorate the colorful cast that had been put on Cas’s leg.

“Dean, would you grab my sketchbook and pencils, please?” Cas called from further down the hallway, crutches creaking as he moved.

“Sure,” Dean replied. He opened up Castiel’s duffel, knowing exactly where he put the requested items and pulled them out without dislodging huge amounts of clothes.

Cas was propped up on the main couch, flicking through stuff on his cellphone when Dean brought his sketchbook and pencils in. While the crutches had been put neatly to one side, though within reach, Dean frowned when he saw that Cas had done nothing to raise his leg. Putting the drawing things down beside Cas, Dean went and got a leather footstool and pushed it closer to Castiel’s right leg.

“Up,” Dean commanded. That earned Dean a raised eyebrow as Cas complied and maneuvered his leg up in the air. Dean slid the stool until it was under Castiel’s leg.

Cas tried to hide a wince as he lowered his leg, and Dean tried not to think about the pain pills that Cas had refused to accept a prescription for. He had to be in a lot of pain, but any chance to relieve it chemically had been pushed away by Cas—he really didn’t want anything to do with pain pills.

“Thanks,” Cas murmured, still trying to hide the pain he was in.

“No problem… so food.”

“Food.”

“You alright with anything or-”

“If you try to feed me kale, we’re going to have problems.”

“What if it’s blended in like a soup or something? It’s really good for you.”

Cas gave Dean a considered look. “Fine, if it’s not making up most of the actual flavor, I suppose it’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” Dean hurried off into his kitchen and started rooting around. He’d had a grocery delivery the day before, so he was well stocked. _I’ll show him_ , Dean thought as he pulled a bag of kale out of his refrigerator. Then he grabbed a haul of other veggies including zucchini, bell peppers, a butternut squash, garlic, chili peppers and a few fresh herbs.

All the ingredients were set out on the counter beside the sink and Dean rinsed everything before taking it to his main work counter. He turned his oven on. _You are going to love this, Cas._ Dean started to chop, peel, slice and dice as he prepped the vegetables so that they could be roasted. The herbs and kale were left to one side, the other veggies loaded up into a roasting tray, drizzled with olive oil and put in the hot oven.

Letting the veggies roast, Dean set about prepping to cook the soup on his stove, using a large black pot. He heated some vegetable stock up and added the fresh herbs, some barley and the kale to it. Once that was all cooking, the veggies in the oven had been roasted for long enough and he carefully took them out and added them to the components on the stove. He set a timer for just over an hour, put a lid on the pot and left the soup simmering.

The smell of the cooking soup filled the apartment and Castiel’s stomach gave a hungry rumble when Dean sat down next to him.

“Mmm, smells good,” Cas said.

“It’ll taste even better.” Dean picked up the remote and put his TV on. He looked through the contents of his DVR and found an episode of _Dr. Sexy_ he hadn’t watched.

Cas looked up from his sketchbook, and Dean glanced at the image he’d been doodling. It was a pair of eyes—the smattering of freckles telling Dean that they were probably his. He blushed.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen this one,” Cas said as Dean hit play.

The two of them watched Dr. Sexy, talking when they felt like it. Sharing plot points theories, likes and dislikes. An hour later, the soup was ready and Dean served it up with some freshly cut bread. Cas loved the soup, despite his earlier hang ups, and was happy that there would be leftovers.

It was a nice, pleasant evening. Made even better when Cas decided to make out with Dean just before bed.

Maybe living together while Cas healed wasn’t going to be that bad.

***

Dean put the phone down. “ _Yes!_ ” Dean squealed, fist punching the air as he sat in his corner of the open office at WeT. It was a Tuesday afternoon and starting to feel like maybe the week was looking up.

A few eyes turned to him, eyebrows raised here and there. Dean ducked his head a little, but then he grabbed his notebook and headed for Sam’s office, high-fiving Taylor and Ashley on his way. He couldn’t believe that he had just achieved over the phone.

Reaching the door, Dean knocked.

“Come in,” Sam ordered.

Dean opened the door, schooling his face to something more neutral than the explosive excitement waiting to burst from him.

“What’s up?” Sam asked, motioning for Dean to take a seat.

Dean sat down and looked down at the figure he’d scrawled on his notebook. “I did it.”

“Did what?”

The skin around Dean’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I got us Sandover.”

Blankness stared back at Dean, until Sam’s brain appeared to finally catch up with what Dean was saying. “Holy fuck— _You got Sandover!_ ” Sam jumped out of his seat, rushed round to Dean and pulled him out of his seat. “ _You got us Sandover!_ ” Sam yelled, jumping on the spot.

Dean got up from his seat and high-fived Sam. “The order’s already been processed. They want us to come over to finalize the design next week, but Sandover is going to be running its supply chain with Wesson Tech from now on.”

The smile on Sam’s face was worth much more than the deal they’d made. Dean could also feel a small sense of satisfaction in selling to his former employer. And only a month after he’d quit too. WeT had already been in discussions with Sandover, but it had been Dean who’d managed to push them over the edge. Zachariah wasn’t happy with the deal—but Dean didn’t care if Zachariah was smiling or not. Though the deal was more a testament to how awesome WeT’s products and Sam were than Dean’s selling skills—Sandover would have been stupid to pass on the opportunity.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Sam ordered out of nowhere. “You’ve been chasing this deal non-stop since you got here. Time to have a break.”

_But that means heading home, that means…_ The joy drained out of Dean. His apartment wasn’t the sanctuary it had once been, he’d been finding it hard to relax there since taking in Cas. And while Cas would be limping around the tattoo parlor at this hour, Dean didn’t want to be reminded of how badly everything had gone to shit, because the peace would only last until he picked up Cas. Suddenly living with someone he’d hardly known, as an out of college adult, had proven to be far more trying than anything he’d faced in his life to date.

Maybe he was just getting old and set in his ways (and he wasn’t even old), but everything about living in close quarters with Cas was driving him up the wall. To suddenly be introduced to every annoying little habit of the guy you wanted to be fucked by and to fuck was not healthy for a relationship. Certainly not one that had just been starting out.

Dean could cope with the grumpiness due to leg pain, or the fact that Cas needed him to drive him to and from the parlor—but Dean never signed up for wet towels all over the bathroom; staying up watching TV until two in the morning, and leaving beer bottle caps down the back of the couch.

Those were just the small things.

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean finally answered, trying his best not to sound ungrateful. He must have managed it, because Sam slapped him happily on the back, almost sending him into the desk, and grinned. _What the hell do they feed him?!_ Dean thought incredulously as he got his footing again.

“Relax. See Cas. Have fun.” Sam chose that moment to turn and head out the office ahead of Dean, probably to tell everyone else the good news.

Dean sneaked out of Sam’s office and dodged around his colleagues. He shut his PC down, grabbed his bag and cellphone, and got out before people could start congratulating him. Normally he would have hung around for that, but Sam’s reward had soured Dean’s mood.

***

Working at WeT meant that Dean didn’t feel like dressing down once he was out of the office. So instead he took his Prius, which he still needed to replace, and drove out of Columbus. He didn’t know where he was heading, but after an hour, he stopped at a gas station and grabbed himself a grape soda. He hadn’t had soda in ages, rarely allowing himself to put something so sugary in his body.

But the low tingle of a month’s worth of frustration bubbled under Dean’s skin and he was feeling reckless. He stood outside the building, in the heat and the sun, and pulled the ring on the can. Sickly sweet liquid fizzed down his throat as he tipped the can to his lips. Gulping half the can down in one go, Dean pulled the can down and looked at his parked Prius. And then he looked at the can in his hand.

_So my idea of letting loose is grape soda? God, I’m so fucking square_ , Dean thought. And then he remembered that beautiful week where Cas edged him, that amazing first week. _Okay, maybe not that square._ Dean rolled his eyes at himself and finished the rest of his soda. He chucked the can in the trash and headed for his Prius.

The Prius committed its final act of betrayal while Dean was driving through the burbs. Recovery took several hours and Dean ended up drinking homemade lemonade with a blue-eyed man, who had long flowing gray hair, and called himself Cain.

Dean only played along, because he was worried he’d end up with his throat cut.

***

“Dean?” Cas looked up from the waiting room couch, leg propped up, Android tablet in hand.

And fuck, Castiel’s hair was all tousled, and he had two day’s worth of stubble, and one of Dean’s AC/DC shirts on. His earlier anger jumped out the parlor door. Dean swallowed, trying to suppress the desire he always had to touch and claim, to be claimed and touched.

“Car died,” Dean announced, carefully sitting down on the couch beside Cas. “It might be repairable, but there’s no point. It’s a piece of shit.”

Cas licked his lips. “Well, you’ve said you needed a new car. Change can be good.”

_Not always_. “We’ll have to take a cab back to the apartment today. There was a mess up with sorting out my rental and I won’t have one until tomorrow lunch time.”

Cas’s eyes flicked down to his tablet and back up. “Why don’t I leave early and we can… I dunno… go car shopping? Get a cab to a nearby lot?”

“You’d do that?”

Cas shrugged and started the awkward process of arranging himself and his crutches so he could stand up and walk. “It’s been dead in here. Harry’s gone home early. Might as well.” There was an eagerness to Castiel’s voice that Dean didn’t quite understand, but if it was what Cas wanted, he was happy to play along.

So Castiel locked up while Dean called a cab and directed him to a dealership five blocks over. They didn’t say much to each other during the drive, but once they were set down at the lot, Dean found himself wishing he could just head home to Sioux Falls and buy something from his dad because here he felt like he was going to be ripped off. There was just too much colorful bunting hung up around the place to be a good thing. The reviews on Google had looked good, but they could have been bought.

“Maybe we should head somewhere else,” Dean muttered to Cas as he hobbled beside him. No sales people approached them.

“Why, looks like a good enough place as any to buy a car.” Cas swung himself over a pothole in the forecourt.

Dean stopped and Cas followed suit. Looking Cas in the eye, Dean let out a long breath. “My dad works in car sales and this place is not giving me good sales vibes. Like, at all.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean swept his gaze around the lot. “I’m-” But the words caught in Dean’s throat as his eyes fell upon the gleaming black lines of a five door, ‘67 Chevy Impala. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a car so beautiful.

“Dean?”

But Dean didn’t hear Cas as he stalked over to the Impala, feet light, as if he was worried she’d bolt if he approached too fast. He didn’t glance at the price as he reverently touched a hand to its gleaming paintwork. It looked in near mint condition. Paint perfect. No visible rust. Smooth leather seats. It was the kind of car he’d dreamed about as a boy. The kind of car his dad would give his left arm for if he could find it.

Finally, Dean leveled his gaze at the price. It was steep. It would mean using some of his savings. It would mean having to spend time doing car maintenance.

It would mean driving down the highway, wind in his hair, classic rock blasting and-

Dean looked over at Castiel. So maybe he didn’t always put his towels somewhere to dry. Maybe he’d bite his nails when he was bored with ad breaks. Maybe he didn’t always use air freshener when he went for a dump.

But fuck would Cas look good sat beside him in this car. He’d look fucking perfect. He’d—Dean whimpered and willed himself to calm down. That got him a raised eyebrow.

Thankfully it was that moment that the salesperson showed up. He nodded to Dean and Cas. His voice was clear, brown eyes and hazelnut skin shining as he asked, “So, wanna test drive her?”

Dean gave a slow nod. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“’Course not.” The salesman held out his hand. “Victor Henriksen. And you are…?”

“Dean Smith. This is my...” Dean swallowed and said, “boyfriend, Castiel Shurley.”

“Well, Dean. Castiel. I think you are about to be more than pleasantly surprised. Just let me go get the key.”

Ten minutes later, Dean was ignoring the likely reality of the car’s fuel efficiency, and cruising down the surrounding streets. They couldn’t go out far enough to really let her engines go, but Dean could feel how well behaved the car was. Automatic transmission was still smooth, and Dean didn’t think he could have a thing about the smell of leather, but he was definitely developing a thing.

Pulling back into the lot, Dean parked the car, and smoothed a hand over the wheel and the top of the dash. “I’ll take her.”


	8. Chapter 8

“The advance by the Soviet army meant...” droned a narrator’s voice on the TV. Castiel wasn’t listening.

It was a mystery to Castiel just how Dean managed to get through as much kale as he did. Though Castiel had been democratic in not saying anything about the quality of Dean’s farts. But it was dangerous to be around the man when he’d gone out of his way to have a healthy meal, or a smoothie.

Bored of the documentary Dean had put on, Castiel started to imagine what Dean’s farts could be used for. Bottled, they would be an effective knockout gas. Castiel also suspected that Dean’s farts, when introduced to a fire source, would be able to level entire cities. That last one might be because the World War 2 documentary Dean had stuck on was so far away from Castiel’s interests that he needed to think of something or else fall asleep.

In past relationships, when he was bored like this, Castiel would just find an excuse to get in his partner’s space and start making out with them. Shifting everything to sex, and it had normally worked. With a busted leg that wasn’t possible. Everything he had tried with Dean had led to pain lancing through his body, making him feel like his leg was being stuck with hot pokers. So his sex drive in the past few weeks had been pretty non-existent.

Even blow jobs weren’t safe.

Castiel sighed.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked, attention finally torn away from the TV. There was a genuine look of concern on his face, and Castiel decided he couldn’t remain completely displeased with his boyfriend.

“Just, uh, commiserating with myself over our lack of physical intimacy.”

Rather than say anything, Dean slid up alongside Castiel on the couch and put an arm over his shoulders. “I know what you mean.”

Dean chastely kissed Castiel’s cheek. Of course Castiel wanted more than that so he turned to Dean and drove their mouths together, making his outstretched leg throb a little with the change in position. He licked inside of Dean’s mouth, chasing the warm hint of bourbon he’d indulged in thirty minutes ago.

“Mmmmm,” Cas hummed against Dean’s mouth. He could feel Dean vibrating under his touch and a corner of Castiel’s brain tried to figure out how they might experience something of the intimacy they both craved. _Maybe Dean could… I dunno… pose or something and I could jerk myself off? I just want something. He’s too good looking to be left alone._

The kiss ended and Dean looked at Castiel with blown, hungry pupils. “Cas,” he whined.

Castiel licked his lips. There had to be something. Anything. “Dean,” Castiel started, an idea forming, “do you think you could do something for me?”

Dean swallowed. “Sure, Cas.”

“I want you to strip for me. Slowly. While I get off.”

Blushing, Dean swallowed again and nodded. “Okay...” Dean seemed to have an idea of his own. “Gimme a sec to get ready, and then I’ll strip.”

“There’s nothing to get ready, you have clothes.” Castiel wondered what Dean could possibly need to do.

“Just lemme get ready.” Dean turned off the TV.

“Fine.”

Dean slid off the couch and padded through the apartment to his room. The two of them had not been sleeping in the same bed, because Castiel couldn’t cope with the pain he felt whenever his leg was jostled in his sleep. They’d already found that out after attempting to cuddle in Dean’s bed and falling asleep.

A few minutes later, Dean was back in the living room. But rather than the t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing, he was in one of his suits. Tie, dress shirt, dress slacks, jacket and shoes—the whole shebang. It was Castiel’s turn to swallow hard.

“Put some music on, would you?”

Realizing that Dean was talking to him, Castiel nodded, pulled out his cell and scrolled through his music. He stopped when he saw “Smooth Sailing” by Queens of the Stone Age. Sending the track to Dean’s stereo system, Castiel waited, anticipation making the hairs on his neck stand up.

A sound like a record skipping over and over started up and then the lead guitar kicked in, followed by bass and drums. The music slowly swelled and then the song started in earnest. Dean’s head bopped with the beat.

“It's all in motion. No stoppin' now. I've got nothin' to lose. And only one way up,” sung a male singer.

Dean shucked out of his jacket in one smooth movement, stalking the floor between the couch and the TV. He hung the jacket over his right shoulder, and swung his hips.

“I'm burning bridges. I destroy the mirage. Oh, visions of collisions. Fuckin 'bon voyage. It's all smooth sailing. From here on out...”

The jacket sailed through the air and landed on the couch beside Castiel. Dean winked at him and then pulled at the tie on his throat, loosening it, but rather than taking it off, he slipped the white collar of his shirt out from it.

“I got bruises and hickies. Stitches and scars. Got my own theme music. It plays wherever I are...”

Dean undid every button on his shirt, a button a word. The song rocked along and Castiel finally started to palm himself through his sweatpants, then he shifted his hips. He pulled the pants and boxers down, exposing his ass to the leather of Dean’s couch, freeing his cock.

Dean’s eyes looked at him hungrily as Castiel spat on his hand and wrapped it around himself. Turning side on to him, Dean strutted, hips rocking with each step. He undid the cufflinks on his shirt and then slid the garment off, revealing tanned freckled skin. The shirt wound up on the coffee table. Castiel did a double take as he saw a hint of what he thought was silky pink at Dean’s hips but then it was gone.

The red tie around Dean’s neck looked perfect, and Castiel dreamed of pulling the other man along by it, bringing Dean’s mouth up to his cock and making him suck. Pre-come dripped from Castiel’s tip and he stroked himself faster.

“Fear is the hand. That pulls your strings. A useless toy. Pitiful plaything...”

Dean stopped and faced him, hips swaying side to side, hands over his flies. But instead of opening them, he kicked his shoes off, revealing bare feet.

“Dammit,” Castiel hissed, wanting to see a part of Dean that wasn’t his feet.

“I'm inflagranti. In every way...”

Dean’s hands moved around his button and flies, and Castiel sucked in a breath.

“It's all smooth sailing. From here on out. I'm gon' do the damage. That needs gettin' done...”

Hands sliding down, Dean revealed a hint of something pink and shiny against his skin, and then shucked off his slacks.

“It's all smooth sailing. From here on out...”

Dean finally pulled his hands away, revealing a pair of silky, frilled, pink panties straining over his hard dick, pressed up and to the side. Pre-come had made the material around the tip dark and wet. Forget having his dick in Dean’s mouth, Cas wanted to suck on Dean’s sweet dick.

“Fuck!” Castiel cried, orgasm slamming through him. He stripped his cock, come coating his sweats and shirt. His body shook, making his leg ache, but he tried to ignore it.

The song was ending and Dean came over to him. Giving Castiel a lustful gaze, Dean bent over him and licked Castiel’s right hand clean and then his cock. Castiel swore incoherently. Dean stood up.

Castiel surged forwards, tears pricking at the pain in his leg, so he could grab onto Dean’s hips. Hands digging in, Castiel lapped at Dean’s cock through the silky fabric, making it wet around Dean’s tip. A whimper escaped Dean and then he cried out, saltiness reaching Castiel’s tongue as Dean came inside the lingerie.

Legs wobbling, Dean pulled back from Castiel and then sat down heavily on the floor. The two of them fought to catch their breath. It was the first time in weeks that they had done something so sexual and Castiel understood now what he needed to do: be more creative.

The music had long since ended. And then Castiel’s cellphone started to vibrate. He dug it out from between the couch cushions where it had fallen. The caller ID told him that his dad was calling. He was tempted to ignore the call, but his dad would just keep calling until he picked up, rather than leave a voicemail.

“Who is it?” Dean asked in a groggy voice.

“Dad.” Castiel swiped the display to answer and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad.”

“Castiel, I was hoping you and your boyfriend would join me for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“Uhhhhh...”

“Great. Out at that steakhouse on...” Chuck continued, giving time and place. It wasn’t until Castiel hung up that he realized they were going to be meeting his dad for a meal at the same place Dean and Castiel had had their first date.

“What was that about?”

“Dad wants to have dinner with us Saturday evening.”

“Should I be worried?”

Castiel gave Dean a considered look. “When it comes to my father? Always.”

***

Angel Ink had pretty much finished being repaired since Alastair—that’s what the police had said he was called—had rampaged through the parlor and beaten the crap out of Harry and Castiel. Any broken equipment had been replaced, and the place looked relatively unscathed, except for a few new smudges and scuffs in the linoleum on the floor.

Hobbling inside as Dean drove off for his own job, Castiel wished he hadn’t left Dean’s apartment. Sweat dripped down his back, under his shirt, and Castiel took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He’d seen some pretty crazy shit back in LA, but he’d never been attacked, never had his sanctuary breached.

Castiel sat down on the front couch. He grabbed his tablet from his satchel and started looking through the day’s bookings. The door opened and he looked up to see Harry smiling nervously at him.

“Hey,” Harry greeted stepping in and treating the parlor with the same nervous glance that Castiel had given it.

“Hey,” Castiel shot back.

Harry started walking towards the office. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Harry went into the office and Castiel continued to stare at his appointments for the day. He had someone showing up in thirty minutes, and he needed to check that his setup was definitely ready. They already had the design picked out, so he and his customer would be getting right into it, but he wished they were already there. When he worked his machine, he could forget about the shit that had happened to him. Inking someone was and always would be a relaxing experience—making art blossom across someone’s skin.

But it was getting harder to keep walking into Angel Ink every day. To act like the fucked up leg he was sporting hadn’t been born in the place. Still not knowing who this Fergus guy was didn’t make Castiel feel any easier. The guy was enough of a dick to have people coming round with baseball bats.

_What next? Guns?_ Castiel swiped mindlessly at the calendar on his tablet. He feared other people turning up to try and take a pound of flesh, but Castiel couldn’t just move his entire business. They’d started to build a reputation now, buoyed by word of mouth. If they moved, they would most likely lose a lot of walk-ins, and that could ruin them. Castiel didn’t want to give up his livelihood over a case of mistaken identity gone wrong.

Slowly, he got up from the couch, supporting himself on his crutches. He hoped by the end of the following month, as Fall started to creep in, he might be assessed as well enough to start the next stage of his healing process. Not that he’d be without crutches just yet. Castiel swung into his studio and started to check over his equipment. He’d print the design off next.

Harry had helped him clean up the previous day, so there wasn’t much to do. Stopping for a moment, Castiel looked at the tattoo machine he had nestled on a wheeled workbench. He was thankful that Alastair hadn’t fucked it up.

Wiping down the customer seat again, Castiel wondered who the hell Fergus MacLeod really was. What had he done to cause a man to wander into Angel Ink and beat two men who had nothing to do with him? He wish he knew who Fergus was, so he could give him a piece of his mind.

Castiel finished wiping the seat down and hobbled into the office so he could use the printer for the design transfer. The rich aroma of coffee filled the office, and Harry hummed as he made up two cups. Harry could have left him, Castiel was well aware of that, but his friend and colleague had stuck around. He’d said things like: “It’ll take more than a bat to the skull to keep me away,” and, “I don’t care what maniacs wander in here, I ain’t leaving you to them. So you better stop trying to push me away,” or, “Cassie, we started this business together and we’re gonna keep this business together until we’re sick of it. Not because of some asshole.”

It was Harry’s confidence and support that grounded Castiel when he was there. He just wished he could feel safe in his sanctuary again.

Once they’d had their coffees, Castiel’s first appointment turned up. That was an outline and color job, a tattoo of a red and blue dragon crawling up the woman’s arm. He worked it, showing nothing of the fear he felt. And he did the same, over and over, as each customer walked through his door.

***

“Hi, I’ll be with you in a mo-” Josie’s voice cut off as she finally looked up at Castiel and Dean. They’d gotten to the steakhouse a little later than anticipated, because Dean hadn’t known what to wear, even though Castiel had tried to explain that his dad probably wouldn’t care.

Just their dumb luck that she’d have a shift at the steakhouse that evening. Castiel quickly glanced past her at the other people in the restaurant and spotted his dad at a table. “It’s okay, we’re expected.”

Without another word, Castiel grabbed some menus from front of house and Dean led the way while Castiel hobbled on his crutches. He was getting better at not jarring his leg too much when he was out getting around.

“Castiel,” Chuck greeted warmly, standing up and pulling Castiel into an awkward hug. He let go and smiled at Castiel before turning to Dean. “Dean.” Chuck held out his hand and Dean shook it. There was maybe a second where both squeezed harder than they needed to. “Please sit, sit.”

Careful of his leg, Castiel got down onto an empty seat and gave Dean a drinks and food menu. Looking at one himself, he didn’t know why he bothered. There was little on the menu he didn’t remember. And he wasn’t expecting to be there as long this time.

Josie showed up at their table, the set of her shoulders indicating she’d rather be anywhere else but there. “So, what’ll it be?”

“They only just got here,” Chuck pointed out.

But no one was listening to him.

“I’ll have the beef strips salad and the Pilsner.” Castiel looked to Dean.

“I’ll have the same.” Dean gave a smile that didn’t reach his green eyes.

Chuck looked between the two of them, clearly confused, but Castiel offered no explanation. At least not while Josie was still standing beside the table. Josie noted down their orders.

“What about you, sir?” Josie asked, voice a few octaves more civil.

“The rib eye, sweet potato fries, corn, coleslaw and some of those beer battered onion rings,” Chuck trotted out.

Josie recorded Chuck’s order. “And to drink?”

“Just water is fine.” Chuck smiled apologetically, but the smile did nothing to warm Josie to their table.

“Your drinks will be with you in a moment.” Josie turned and stomped off.

“Geez, what’s her problem?” Chuck asked.

Castiel exchanged a look with Dean. “Uh, we think she might be homophobic. She wasn’t exactly welcoming the last time we were here.”

“Understatement,” Dean interjected. But despite the fact Josie still didn’t seem to like the two of them, Castiel reached out and twined his right finger’s with Dean’s left.

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Figures… you know you could have asked to go somewhere else?”

“What, and deny you their rib eye?” Dean winked. “Now that is worth sticking around for.”

“Ha!” Chuck shook his head.

Dean and Chuck seemed to warm to each other over the course of the meal. It surprised Castiel, though he was glad when Dean wouldn’t provide all the details about their rooming together that Chuck seem to hanker for.

“So, look, I’m sure you didn’t want me getting involved,” Chuck started as he pushed the remains of his meal around his plate.

_Oh, here we go. The real reason we’re here…_

“But I did some digging, or rather a friend of a friend, who’s a P.I., did some digging...”

_This better not be about Dean. Seriously._

“And he found this Fergus MacLeod guy. Tricky to track down, on account of having no online presence...”

_Yes, I already tried that._

“But, he’s a real person and he’s in Columbus.”

“What’s he do?” Dean asked.

“He’s a drug dealer… small time supplier.” Chuck drained the last of his water.

“I suppose that explains the baseball bat,” Castiel said dully. He’d never had anything actively to do with drugs, and certainly not since coming home to Columbus.

“Here,” Chuck continued, pulling out his cellphone and swiping through to something. He held up the cell, a photo of a man on the screen. “This is Fergus.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide as he looked at the stocky, well dressed man Balthazar had kicked out of his club the previous month. It was a surveillance photo.

“You know him?” Dean asked.

“I think he tried to do business in Edlund’s the one time,” Castiel answered, voice thick. He still didn’t get how the mix up had happened, though someone must have given Alastair false information. “How the hell would someone think I’m him? I look nothing like him!”

Dean sneaked a peek at the photo. “Have to agree, Cas looks nothing like the guy.”

Chuck shrugged and put the cell away. “Sure, he doesn’t. But why don’t I grab the check, and then we can go somewhere else for _dessert_.”

The way Chuck said “dessert” had Castiel looking at his father in wide eyed surprise. “Dad, what have you done?”

“Nothing… but you really shouldn’t miss dessert. I’ll show you where it is of course.”

Chuck raised a hand for the check, turning his attention to front of house. Castiel exchanged a worried look with Dean, who mouthed “what the fuck?” at him. What Dean needed to understand was that Chuck got very protective of his son sometimes. Very protective.


	9. Chapter 9

Sun set had been an hour ago and Dean still wasn’t used to driving the Impala. Sure it had working lights, but he hadn’t really driven her around at night yet. He was glad that Cas had decided to ride with him, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Chuck was leading them to the spot where he was going to murder Dean for daring to go out with Cas.

The radio wasn’t on as they slipped onto a country road and Dean felt like he was about to become the very real extra in a horror movie. He made a point of never watching horror movies, because he hated the way they would make adrenaline pump through him without him doing anything—like the way his heart was thumping in his chest as he drove towards who knew where. Horror movies were too scary, too jumpy and gory and—

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Dean, but I believe my father may have abducted a drug dealer.”

Dean quickly glanced at Cas. “You think your dad’s kidnapped a drug dealer?” Eyes settling back on the road, Dean tried to calm the rising tide of panic within him.

“That would appear to be what has happened.”

“ _Hell, Cas!_ ” Dean hissed, hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

He really couldn’t believe he was in the sticks, heading to now what was almost 100% likely to be a goddamn crime scene. Fuck, Cas was definitely hot and had something between his ears that Dean was most definitely into, but he didn’t sign up for these kinds of shenanigans. Not when they fucked for the first time, not when he offered to take Cas in for a while. Abducting drug dealers had not been on the table.

“We can turn back,” Cas offered in a voice that wasn’t completely convinced this was really the case.

Clearing his throat, Dean glanced at Cas again before looking back at the road. “I can turn around the car and head home?”

“Yes,” Cas said, but his voice was uncertain.

“What happens if we turn back and go the apartment?”

“My father will likely bring Fergus MacLeod to your home and further implicate both of us.”

“Oh my God,” Dean groaned. “Seriously?”

“He won’t be the one moving him of course, it’s likely to be whoever he had track him down in the first place.” Cas thoughtfully tapped a finger against his chin. “Not that this really makes things any better.”

“And that we can agree on.” Dean swallowed and wished he hadn’t eaten. “Is your dad gonna, you know, uh...”

“Kill MacLeod? Doubtful. All I can say of my father, is that he is very protective.”

Chuck’s car took another turn off the small road they were already on. Dean signaled and followed, stomach a churning mass of ice. Just beyond the beams of their headlights, Dean could see the shadow of a barn.

_I’ve been doing so well with this pre-midlife-crisis. Got myself a tattoo, a new job, a sexy boyfriend, a hot car… I wasn’t planning on adding murder witness to the goddamn list._ Dean slowed the car up and put it in park as Chuck finally stopped in front of them. He cut the engine and turned the headlights off.

“Well, we’re here… I think I’m beginning to understand why you wanted to stay at mine.”

In the darkness, Cas turned to Dean and Dean swore he could hear Castiel quirking an eyebrow at him. “Because my father has boundary issues?”

“That and has clearly watched waaaaaaay too much Tarantino. Or that’s my guess. I’ve only watched _Pulp Fiction_.” Dean unfastened his seatbelt and Cas did the same.

“You’ve only seen…? Right, well I know what our next movie night will be.”

Chuck’s car shifted as he stepped out of it. In the dimness of the moon’s light, Dean saw Chuck wave at him, as if encouraging them to get a move on.

Stalling, Dean asked, “And what’s it gonna be?”

Cas put a hand on the door handle. “ _Reservoir Dogs._ ”

Copying Cas, Dean reached out for the door. They both opened their doors at the same time and stepped out into the cooling night air. The heat of the day still lingered and things felt a little humid. It was unpleasant, but it would help Dean to stay awake. Cas dragged his crutches out of the car and then hobbled over to Dean.

“I suppose we better follow him?” Cas asked.

It was weird seeing Cas so unsure, weirder hearing it in his voice. Dean stepped over to him, tried to offer his presence as a buffer if necessary. Not that Dean had any experience in what to do with kidnappings. He looked over to where Chuck had gotten to. Castiel’s father was stood by a door to the barn, several unfamiliar things in hand.

Warily, Dean and Cas made their way to Chuck.

“Here, put these on.” Chuck offered them each a balaclava and a flashlight. Dean pulled the balaclava over his head, trying not to think of the mess it was making of his hair. “Oh, and these.” Chuck offered some leather gloves to Cas and Dean.

Taking the gloves, Dean carefully pulled them on while balancing the flashlight. Cas was having a harder time, what with his crutches and all, so Dean got in his space and helped him.

“I think the crutches are gonna be a big giveaway,” Cas muttered. Dean couldn’t quite tell if Cas was making a joke or stating a fact. Finally ready, the two of them joined Chuck outside the barn.

“Try not to rough him up too much,” Chuck announced, giving Cas and Dean meaningful looks. Or at least that’s what Dean thought he saw, he couldn’t really tell in the weak light of the moon. “And don’t use your real names.”

_There’s still time, I could grab Cas now, throw him in the car and we could drive away, then lock ourselves in my apartment._ Dean felt torn over this. _If he’s still alive, surely he’s going to figure out who we really are? But this asshole is why Cas is staying with me._

Chuck opened the door. Cas lurched forward and Dean followed.

Inside the barn smelled of musty straw and dust. There was little inside it, bar some old straw bails and what looked like the skeleton of the reaping part of an old combine harvester. What was most interesting was the small pool of light coming from a light affixed to a beam and the chair with a hooded, bound figure sat in it. Somewhere in the distance, Dean heard a portable generator whirring away.

“Thanks for finding him,” Chuck called into the darkness, pulling on his balaclava and gloves.

“Money’s money.” A balaclava-wearing man stepped out of the shadows and walked towards the hooded figure.

“Would you do the honor?” Chuck asked.

The stranger bowed and whipped the hood off who Dean was assuming was Fergus MacLeod. A man with short dark hair, and several days worth of scruff sat blinking in the chair. Dean didn’t recognize him.

A sharp intake of breath beside Dean was the first sign he had that Castiel definitely did recognize the man.

“You,” Cas hissed. He pushed his way over to the man in the seat. “You’re Fergus MacLeod.”

The man gave everyone a wary look. “And what if I am?”

“Why would someone want to beat the crap out of you with a baseball bat?”

Fergus shrugged and gave Cas a nonchalant look. “Honestly? Couldn’t say.”

Dean looked between Cas and Fergus, then to Chuck. _What the hell does he think he’s doing?_ Dean thought. _The guy responsible for beating the crap out of Cas is behind bars. There’s not much else we can do. Should just let this asshole go and move on. Karma’ll catch up eventually._

Despite all of these thoughts running through Dean’s head, Dean said nothing. His muscles were wound tight—he wanted to leave. He didn’t want to be there, and he didn’t want to see Cas get into trouble. It was a crap way to find out just why it had been good that Cas had stayed with him rather than his own father. What Dean needed was a sign that Cas didn’t want a part of this.

“I’m gonna go wait by the car,” Dean announced. He turned away without a second look. And he prayed that this would be the out Cas needed.

There was no clacking of crutches on the hard ground immediately after him, but Dean walked back to the Impala and leaned against the still warm hood. He pulled off his balaclava and the gloves, and wiped away the sweat that had formed on his forehead.

Crickets chirped in the darkness, and somewhere an owl hooted. Every sound served to remind Dean that he wasn’t near civilization, and that whatever happened in that barn was unlikely to find its way back to the authorities.

Raised voices drifted over from the barn and Dean grew worried. The voices were dulled by the structure, so he couldn’t make out what was being said. He wondered if he should head back in. Being annoyed didn’t mean he wanted to see Cas hurt again.

Wood banged against wood and the door to the barn opened. Dean looked up to see Cas hobbling out on his crutches. Dean got up from the hood of his car and took a step forwards.

“Start the car!” Cas ordered, moving as fast as he could, face still covered up.

Dean jumped into action, rushing round to the driver’s side. He got in and started the engine and a second later Cas was shoving his crutches in on the passenger side. Cas climbed in, closed the door and yanked his balaclava off.

“We need to go, now.”

Shifting the Impala into drive, Dean pulled away, turned around in the yard and headed out. Neither of them said a thing as Dean found his way back to the highway they’d left. After thirty minutes of not talking, Dean couldn't stand it any longer.

“What the hell happened back there?”

Dean could practically hear the thoughts churning away in Castiel’s head. _Nothing good then_ , Dean decided as time and silence continued to stretch between them.

“Oh, y’know, the usual.” Cas sighed.

Drumming his hands along the steering wheel, Dean tried to say as calmly as possible, “No, I don’t, Cas. What’s ‘the usual’?”

“He gave me a baseball bat, suggested I do what Alastair had failed to,” Cas stated. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Dean couldn’t imagine his own father doing this. Bobby was a killer salesman, but a really hands off dad.

“D-did you… use it?” Dean couldn’t believe he was asking whether Cas had hit a guy with a baseball bat.

“No. I put it down, told my father I wasn’t going to see him for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And then I left.” Cas sighed. “Don’t worry, Dean… I’ll head back to my apartment tomorrow.”

_Wait, what?!_ The car jerked over towards the other lane and Dean yanked the car back. Getting a hold of himself, Dean glanced over at Cas and then turned his gaze back to the road. “But you’re not… your leg isn’t healed up yet.”

“I think it’s for the best.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to say when they got back to his apartment in Columbus. Didn’t know what to say as Cas swung into the guest room. Had no idea what to say as he watched Cas move around the following morning, picking up and packing his things. Still didn’t know what to say when Harry pulled up in his old clunker and helped Cas load his things. And still no idea what to say as Cas got into Harry’s car and drove away.

***

Perhaps he could call in sick? Dean considered it as he sat on the edge of his bed, his usual weekday alarm having gone off just ten minutes before. There was a pain in his chest that no amount of texts and voicemails to Cas had managed to shift. Sunday had gone by in a blur of emptiness once Cas had left. It had felt wrong.

Sunday evening, Dean had thought work was something to look forward to, that he’d be able to distract himself from the pain that Castiel’s sudden departure had caused. But faced with Monday, Dean was leaning more towards wallowing inside his apartment and continuing to not shower, because he didn’t want to risk looking at his tattoo.

_This is crazy,_ Dean thought as he sat on the edge of his bed, not moving anywhere. _I hardly know the guy. He’s just… Just…_ Dean put his face in his hands. He sucked in harsh breaths, body shaking, and then the first sob came. Then the first tear.

Dean cried, body trembling as he allowed himself to feel the hurt that had been brewing since Saturday night. It had been a long time since something had hurt him this much. The pain was up there with when his and Jo’s dog Jimmy had died. Dean and Jo had sat in Jo’s room, and tried to play Mario Kart on Jo’s N64, but had ended up crying into each other’s shoulders instead.

At some point Dean must have managed to compose a text, because his cell pinged with a concerned message from Sam:

**Sam** : Hey, no worries. Let me know if you need anything.

It hadn’t just been about Cas being one hot bastard, the guy had substance beneath his tattoos and piercings. And Dean didn’t really, _really_ care about the damp towels. The time he and Cas had spent together in the same space had shown Dean one important thing: just because he had been living alone, didn’t mean he really liked it. There was more to life than the next cleanse.

Cas hadn’t even said he was splitting up from Dean, he’d just walked (well, hobbled) back out of Dean’s life. Not knowing where they stood was killing Dean. He wanted to give Cas space, but it felt a lot like they had broken up.

Wiping his eyes, Dean went through the contacts on his cell. For the first time in weeks, Dean went to Jo’s number and hit dial.

It took a few rings, but she finally picked up. It was seven in the morning in Sioux Falls versus eight in Columbus. Dean knew she’d be busy getting ready to head to her classes for the day, but he needed to hear a friendly voice.

“Hey, Dean!” Jo said in a surprised voice. And without even needing a single bit of input from him, she asked, “Everything okay?”

Dean slid down to the floor beside his bed. “I don’t know,” Dean said in a tight voice. “I really don’t know.”

“Is it the office?”

“I left Sandover.”

There was a pause. Dean could hear Jo’s pouting over the line.

“You could have told me. Where you at now?”

“I’m working for Sam Wesson’s company. Uh, WeT.”

Jo giggled, and there was the sound of a bag opening and closing. “He really should think of a better name.”

“Yeah, I keep telling him.”

“But you didn’t call me first thing in the morning about Sam. What’s going on, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips and sighed. He tried to find the words, tried to figure out where to start. Dean felt bad for not telling Jo about Cas sooner. But it had been all so quick.

“I got a tattoo,” Dean started.

“There’s a guy, isn’t there? Tell me there’s a guy. Or a woman… There’s a guy, isn’t there? What’s his name?”

“Castiel… Or Cas.”

“Oooooh, tell me more!”

“Don’t you have class?”

“Not until ten. C’mon, Dean. Details!”

***

The intercom buzzed. Dean shuffled over to it, sweatpants low on his hips. He’d showered and changed since talking to Jo, but he’d hardly eaten over the course of the day. The old Guns N' Roses t-shirt he had on was hanging a little looser from his frame than it had when he’d been working at Sandover.

Dean pressed a button on the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s Sam. You eaten?”

“Uhhh...”

“I’ll take that as a no. Let me in. I’ve got carbs.”

Dean’s stomach growled loudly. “Sounds good.” He pressed the door button and let Sam in.

Once Sam was settled with Dean in the living room, box of pizza open between them, they ate a slice each before Sam wiped his hands and gave Dean an inquiring look. Dean played dumb and picked up a second slice. He chewed and stayed silent.

Sam rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Dean. This is about Castiel, isn’t it? I’m not blind. He’s not here and I know his leg wouldn’t be healed up yet. So what’s going on?”

Putting his slice of pizza down and grabbing a napkin, Dean wiped his hands like Sam had done. He squirmed a little in his seat and tried to figure out where to start. Jo had gotten everything bar the late night abduction of a local drug dealer.

“Something happened,” Dean began.

“Well duh. What happened?”

Drawing in on himself, Dean tried to gather the facts together. “Well, Castiel’s dad, Chuck, took us out for a meal Saturday… to that steakhouse I told you about, the one with Josie.”

“Josie served you again? You should have asked for someone else.”

“Josie wasn’t the problem. The local drug dealer tied up in a barn afterwards was.”

Sam stared at Dean, eyes bugging out of his head. “What?”

“Chuck took us to some place after the meal. He’d hired someone to find the guy who Castiel’s attacker had been after… Look, Castiel’s dad is kinda unpredictable. Sure, the world knows him as some popular author, but the guy’s got boundary issues.” Dean rubbed at his face.

“So what happened?”

“Chuck gave Cas a baseball bat and said he could hit him. Cas refused, left with me and then decided he was gonna move out.” Dean picked a slice of pepperoni off of his pizza and chewed it.

“Why? His dad’s the one who started it.”

“He wouldn’t say why and I couldn’t ask… I think I’ve fucked up, Sam. Like… I get it was weird and maybe too soon—but I think I love the guy.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You two need to talk.”

“How? He’s ignored every one of my calls and texts since he left. I don’t want to walk to the parlor like some kind of creep.”

“Did he say he was breaking up with you?”

Dean shook his head.

“Then he probably just needed some space. There’s still hope, Dean. Give him a few more days and then go and see him.”

Dean nodded. He picked up his pizza and took another bite. Sam made it sound all so simple. _Maybe it really is, doofus._


	10. Chapter 10

“I am the voice inside your head (and I control you). I am the lover in your bed (and I control you). I am the sex that you provide (and I control you). I am the hate you try to hide (and I control you)...” sung Trent Reznor over the speakers in Castiel’s studio. _The Downward Spiral_ had been on repeat all morning and the album had just gone back to the first track—"Mr. Self Destruct".

It was a small mercy that the customer in Castiel’s studio was not much of a talker. Andy would be a talkative charmer outside of Castiel’s domain, but whenever he was inside it—he remained silent and focused. Like he was willing the pain away as Castiel worked with his tattoo machine and inks. The design had been forming over several sessions, a full sleeve tattoo with hidden tributes to the canon of sci-fi all over it. Andy’s tattoo was highly detailed and colorful and he’d still need more work on it once what Castiel was doing that session had healed. Today Castiel was starting to fill in a section of deepest, darkest space.

The buzz of the machine and the familiar bass line of the Nine Inch Nails song went some of the way to keeping Castiel’s wandering thoughts in check. Without the distraction, he would drift to either anger at what his father had done, or despair at the fool he had been to walk, well hobble, out on Dean. _I shouldn’t have done that_ , Castiel thought as he failed to keep his misery at bay. _But… after Father…_

Castiel had been convinced that Dean would want nothing to do with him after the circus of Saturday night. Deeply convinced that Dean didn’t want to be around that level of drama, even though he hadn’t said anything to confirm that. The texts and voicemails crowding his phone said that Dean wanted to talk, and maybe… _Maybe he wants me. Maybe he can see past this, but what if Father does something like this again? How patient is Dean really? How forgiving?_

“I take you where you want to go. I give you all you need to know. I drag you down, I use you up. Mr. Self Destruct...” the song finished and Castiel pulled the machine away from Andy’s left arm for a moment. He wiped away the excess ink and fluid. Happy the section was going well, Castiel loaded up the machine with a striking deep blue ink and began filling in a section of starry sky.

The track “Piggy” was getting into gear and Castiel tried again to put everything out of his head bar his work right there and then. He just needed to keep working and not think about Dean. There was only the thrum of the machine in his hand, the art he was creating for Andy and the heavy sway of Nine Inch Nails.

Harry, once Andy’s session for the day was over, begged Castiel to not play The Downward Spiral again that day.

“I’ll think about it,” Castiel answered.

***

“Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?” Harry asked as he stood beside Castiel outside his apartment building. The stairs waited for Castiel and his broken leg faintly throbbed. Harry had driven Castiel there after they’d closed the parlor for the day.

“I...”

“If you want, I could help you grab some things and you could stay over at mine.”

Castiel looked to the closed door of the building. He’d only been out of Harry’s car for a few minutes, but sweat from the late summer heat was already making his t-shirt stick to his skin. The apartment held nothing but junk. And to get there he’d have to work hard not to fall down the stairs leading to it.

He let out a long sigh. “Thanks, Harry. I think I will.” Castiel gave his friend an appreciative smile.

“No problem. What do you want me to get?”

Listing off several things, Castiel gave Harry the keys to his apartment. “Oh and, if you can find that big knitted sweater with the raised stitches? Please?”

“The sorta creamy-beige sweater?”

“Yeah that one.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his crutches. He was looking forward to curling up on Harry’s couch, wearing the sweater his own mom once made for him, and eating whatever Harry’s mom might be cooking for dinner.

Harry frowned and handed Castiel his car keys. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”

“Thanks.” Relieved, Castiel took the keys and got into Harry’s ancient blue Honda. Harry disappeared into the apartment building, and Castiel got the air con in the car going again. He sank into the seat and focused on the hum of the car’s engine while he waited.

Ten minutes later, and Harry emerged from the apartment building, a duffel bag in hand. He opened the trunk and put Castiel’s bag in, then went round to the front and got in the driver’s side. “Hey, I couldn’t see that sweater.” Harry handed Castiel his keys.

Frowning, Castiel turned to Harry. He was sure the sweater was in his apartment. “You’re sure?”

“Couldn’t see it anywhere.”

Castiel opened the door beside him and lugged himself out of the car. He grabbed his crutches.

“Hey, it’s just a sweater!” Harry called.

But Castiel ignored his friend and closed the passenger door. A little unsteady, Castiel started the long trek to his studio apartment. It took him ten minutes just to get into the place. Arms aching, lungs heaving, Castiel cast his gaze around the ordered space of his home, but he couldn’t see the sweater out anywhere. He went to his chest of drawers and started pulling them open—the sweater wasn’t there either.

“Shit, shit, shit...” Castiel cursed under his breath. He hobbled over to his laundry hamper and started pulling dirty clothes out of it, but he reached the bottom without finding the sweater. Heart thumping hard in his chest from the climb to the apartment and his panic, Castiel remembered where he last saw it.

Waiting to be washed, in Dean’s laundry room.

“ _Shit._ ”

***

“You sure you don’t me to come with?” Harry asked nervously.

The modern complex that held Dean’s apartment towered over Harry’s Honda. Castiel let out a long breath and nodded. “If he doesn’t answer the intercom, then I’ll grab my sweater, we’ll just head straight back to yours. Okay?”

Castiel clawed his way out of the car and closed the door.

But Castiel didn’t hear Harry call after him, “But what if he’s there?”

Castiel hadn’t given back the key and keycard Dean had given him, but he wouldn’t have just intruded on Dean’s space without warning. Not normally. If Dean wasn’t there, he’d just head in and get his sweater back. Making his way on his crutches, Castiel approached the front of the building and went up to the buzzers. He found Dean’s apartment number and hit the buzzer.

There was no response for a few seconds, and Castiel readied the keycard he needed to get into the building. Then the intercom crackled and a tired voice said, “Hello?”

Castiel froze on the spot, breaths coming out harsh and fast.

“Hello?” Dean repeated.

A loud stuttered breath rattled out of Castiel, and he squeaked, but no words came.

“Cas?”

_Shit_. Castiel backed awkwardly away from the intercom, but wasn’t quite watching where he was going or paying attention to his crutches. One wrong step sent Castiel falling backwards and he yelled out in pain as he jarred his bad leg.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean yelled over the intercom.

Out of view from Harry’s parked car, and with no one walking around, Castiel had no one to help him. Drawing out another cry of pain, he shifted his butt so he could reach his cell in his back pocket. He pulled out his cell and found it to be completely lifeless. The fall must have knocked something loose inside of it.

He looked to his crutches and his surroundings and tried to figure out a way he might get upright again. He still hadn’t arrived at an answer when the front door to the building opened and there was Dean. He looked about as bad as Castiel felt, wearing gray sweats on with an old band t-shirt that had holes in it.

“Cas!” Dean rushed over to him and knelt down beside him. “Shit. Do you think you can move if I help?”

It took a moment for Castiel to find his voice. “Y-yes.”

“Okay. It’s okay, Cas, I gotcha. I gotcha.” Dean got to his feet and put his arms under Castiel’s. Slowly and with a lot of wincing and whining on Castiel’s part, they got Castiel to his feet, or his one good foot anyway.

“T-thank you, Dean,” Castiel whispered, leg throbbing.

Dean gave Castiel his crutches and he was able to finally steady himself. Stepping back from Castiel, Dean shifted awkwardly on his feet, looking at the ground. Then Dean snapped his head up. “We need to talk, Cas.”

“I just want my sweater back.”

“Sure… but we need to talk.”

Castiel really wanted to sit back down and put his leg up, and Harry was waiting for him anyway. He didn’t want to deal with what had happened, even though the ache in his chest was begging him to.

“Cas?”

“Fine, but you better let me borrow your cellphone. Mine broke and I need to let Harry know that you didn’t kidnap me.”

Dean winced, but he nodded. “Sure thing.”

They headed inside.

***

Harry had tried to insist on coming up to Dean’s apartment, but Castiel had told him to wait. Now sat on Dean’s couch, leg up, Castiel was allowing Dean to examine his right elbow, which he hadn’t realized he’d grazed in his fall outside.

Hands soft and welcoming, Castiel tried to remember why he left before his leg was healed. Iodine stinging the graze, Castiel stayed still as Dean cleaned up his elbow.

“So, you talk to your dad?” Dean mumbled.

For a second, Castiel didn’t know what Dean asked, why he would ask, and then the trip to the barn came back with painful clarity. Castiel winced from the memory and gathered his thoughts.

“No.”

Dean set the iodine bottle down, picked up a sterile pad and taped it to Castiel’s arm. “You need to be more careful,” Dean said in a hurt voice.

Closing his eyes, Castiel drew in a long breath. He opened them and looked ahead, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I know.”

Picking up some gauze, Dean started to secure the pad more securely. The graze was quite substantial. “Don’t get this wet.”

“I know.”

Cutting off some more medical tape, Dean secured the gauze in place. “You could have stayed.”

Castiel’s throat felt tight. He knew he’d overreacted, that Dean was on his side. Dean had the opportunity to drive away from the barn without him, but he hadn’t. In no way did Dean deserve to be treated like he’d done the wrong thing when it had been Castiel’s father who fucked things up. _Maybe we can do this. Maybe. But… How?_

Dean had finished dressing the graze on Castiel’s elbow, but he didn’t take his hands away from Castiel’s arm.

Swallowing hard, Castiel lowered his head and said, “I know.”

The hands on Castiel’s arm tensed and then Dean lifted a hand to his cheek, turning Castiel to face him.

“Hey.” Dean smiled at him.

“Hey,” Castiel squeaked out.

Dean licked his lips and Castiel focused on the movement, feeling a spark of interest.

“I’m Dean.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes. “I’m Castiel.”

“Your dad’s a dick.”

Castiel chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

***

Low chatter filled the air and Castiel nervously stroked his hands down the handles of the cutlery in front of him. The French restaurant Dean had recommended looked even swankier than the steak house, but had yet to give him any bad vibes. Instead he was just nervous because it felt like he was on a first date, which was ridiculous, because technically it wasn’t, but Dean had made the case for both of them starting over.

It did mean Castiel was living at Harry’s while his leg finished healing. And it meant that Castiel and Dean had both had some space to think about what they wanted from each other. Sure, a bit of kink with a healthy dollop of sex was one thing, but Castiel had discovered through texts with Dean that the other man was thinking about starting a family.

Castiel hadn’t even considered whether he wanted something like that. Not until Dean had mentioned wanting it. Every time Castiel thought about having kids he felt a little lightheaded and giggly—Harry had found him in near hysterics during one lunch break. _Settled down and a dad. White picket fence…_ he’d had a family growing up, sure, but Castiel had never aimed towards it for himself.

He wasn’t scared. No, Castiel was surprised that this part of himself even existed in the first place. This part that wanted what Dean wanted, and, quite probably, wanted it with Dean too.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Dean greeted from behind him.

Castiel twisted and made to rise, but Dean motioned for him to stay in his seat. Instead Dean held out a single rose for Castiel and then leaned in, kissing Castiel’s cheek.

“I was early,” Castiel greeted, heart skipping.

“Still,” Dean said, sitting down opposite Castiel, “I was late. Sorry about that. This deal with Sandover has been busting my ass.”

“Busting your ass, eh?” Castiel winked at Dean and his boyfriend blushed.

“So, uh, I don’t know what’s good here, but Sam said we should definitely try the salmon tartare.” Dean picked up the drink menu. “But I think I need some wine first.”

“Wine would be good,” Castiel agreed. Dean brushed his foot against Castiel’s good leg. It was cute, and made Castiel think about the many things he still wanted to do with Dean, wanted to do with Dean again.

Eventually they ordered drinks and food, their open touches and loving looks causing none of the staff to cringe or balk at them. Their server, Anthony, was warm and polite, making both of them feel welcome.

The meal was turning into a nice do over.

When they finally left after coffees, Castiel pulled Dean into their cab and was sure of how he wanted the night to end.

***

“You’re sure?” Dean asked, voice low as he helped Castiel towards the master bedroom.

Castiel nodded, blood already gone south, making his dick push uncomfortably against his cargo shorts. Dean’s mouth had done this, kissing him in the cab without a care in the world. They’d tumbled out and hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other as they made their way to Dean’s apartment. Even considering Castiel’s crutches the journey had taken longer than usual. It was all Dean’s fault. Lips making Castiel yearn to have them somewhere else on his body. Sure they were starting over, didn’t mean they had to be monks around each other.

“Fuck, alright...” Dean flipped a light on and led Castiel into his bedroom. “Clothes?”

“Take them all off.”

Awkwardly, the two of them stripped each other, Castiel almost over balancing, but managing to stay upright. Dean helped him up onto his bed, getting him in the center once they were both naked.

Careful of Castiel’s leg, Dean shimmied up the bed on his hands and knees, warm breath ghosting over Castiel’s skin. Then he started to kiss up Castiel’s good leg, and Castiel groaned, because he knew where that mouth was going.

Castiel’s body shook as Dean took his hard cock in hand. “I gotcha,” Dean murmured and then swallowed Castiel down, moving his hand out of the way.

“Dean!” Castiel moaned, unable to thrust his hips like he so wanted to do.

Then Dean’s throat fluttered around Castiel and he was lost in the wet pull and drag of Dean’s mouth. His body practically vibrated with need as Dean’s mouth and throat worked him, taking him deep. He looked down his stomach at Dean’s gelled hair, head bobbing away. 

Drool and pre-come slicked Castiel’s pubes back, and he could feel some of it collecting by his hole. _Mmm, would Dean—_ as if reading Castiel’s thoughts, Dean prodded a finger against Castiel’s hole.

“Yes, fuck, please,” Castiel managed as the extra attention made him twist his hands in the bed sheets. “Such a fucking good mouth, Dean. Perfect for my cock—fuck!”

Dean’s tongue did some swirling motion on an upwards pull at the same time as his finger pushed past that first ring of muscle, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself as his orgasm crashed through him without warning. He swore and cursed, body shaking, unable to fuck up into Dean’s mouth or down on his finger.

The world disappeared for a moment and then Dean was kneeling to the left of Castiel and smiling at him. Castiel lowered his eyes and watched Dean fist himself rough and hard, pre-come dripping from his tip.

It was like he was seeing Dean for the first time as his eyes traveled over the hint of abs, the sculpted pecs, and dusting of freckles. He looked up to Dean’s face and their eyes locked for a brief second before Dean gasped, bending over. Come shot across Castiel’s stomach, and Dean almost fell on top of Castiel.

Crashing beside him, Dean curled up against Castiel’s left side and a t-shirt was wiped down across Castiel’s stomach, and over his soft dick. Dean threw the shirt in the direction of the laundry hamper, and then hugged Castiel, being careful of his leg.

“So...” Castiel started, “I take it we can go back to that restaurant again?”

Dean chuckled and kissed Castiel’s chest. “Well, they didn’t treat us like dirt.”

“This is definitely in its favor.” Castiel kissed the top of Dean’s head.

“The food was good.”

“Mmmm, yes.”

“Anthony was pretty tasty too.”

“That he was.”

The two of them continued to talk until Castiel drifted to sleep. Dean must had pulled the covers over them, because Cas woke up early in the morning warm and covered. Sunlight was starting to sneak through the blinds. Dean was mushed up against him, arm over his stomach. It was all so normal and nice.

“Mornin’,” Dean greeted, squeezing Castiel a little more.

“Morning.”

It was going to be a good weekend.


	11. Epilogue

“Dude, you’re gonna be late to your wedding!” Sam groused as Dean fiddled under the hood of the Impala.

The spring air was already making his shirt stick to his back, and he still had to get the groom through his entire wedding. Not that he was entirely sure of their route to the wedding location, and Dean had insisted on them not putting an actual GPS in the car, so Sam was hoping his cell would hold out.

Everyone was still adjusting to the move out to the outskirts of Palo Alto, in the shadow of San Francisco. But WeT was doing better than ever, so a move out to California seemed like the best thing.

Two years Sam had watched Dean and Castiel act like idiots around each other. They would fight and forgive. Fight and forgive. Nothing ever went nuclear, but they could both be stubborn idiots at times.

“Oh for-” Bobby Smith came strolling out of the bungalow and started pulling up his sleeves. “Stand aside, boy,” Bobby ordered.

Dean got up and went to wipe his hands on his gray dress slacks. Sam only barely got to him in time. “ _Here_ ,” Sam said forcefully, handing Dean a cloth to wipe his hands on instead.

“Oh, right,” Dean murmured, seeming to realize what he’d almost done.

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell. He texted Castiel, letting him know that his groom was going to be a little delayed. Castiel replied quickly.

**Castiel** : He does know I’m not marrying him for that car right?

**Sam** : I think so. Bobby’s just given me the thumbs up. Car’s ready.

**Castiel** : Try not to get lost.

**Sam** : We’ll try.

Thirty minutes later, they rolled up to the country club where the wedding was happening. Sam never remembered seeing such a angry kiss between groom and groom before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this fic. I hope that you enjoyed it. Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, find me at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).


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